East Saginaw courier. (East Saginaw, Mich.) 1859-18??, 1865-03-08


her husband was too sick, much of the
time, even to tend the FIRE or strike a
light. And oh /! with what shiver-
ing heart she would draw near, fear
ing she would be too late. 1t is a
fact that for six weeks at one time,
she never saw the face of her husband
or child save by lamp light, except
only on the Sabbath. How glad she
would have been to have had, once in
> while, q small washing gathered for
herl
"One dark winter morning, as she
was preparing the frugal breakfast
and getting everything ready before
she left, her husband called her to
the bedside.
+" Ada, said he, almost in a whisper,
l want you 70 try and get home early
tonight; be home before the light
goes do Ada"
"Pll try" answered she, with a
choked utterance.
"Do try, Ada. 1 have strange
desire to see your face by ay-light.-
To day is Friday; / have not seen it
since Sunday. / must look upon it
once again"
Do you feel worsep" asked she,
anxiously, feeling his pulse as she
spoke.
"No, no, / think not; but do want
to see your face once moro by day
light. / cannot wait till Sunday"
Gladly would she have tnrried by
his bedside till sunlight had stolen
through their little window; but it
might not be. Money was wanted
and she must go forth to labor. She
left her husband. She reached the
kitchen of her employer, and with a
troubled face waited for the basket to
be brought. A smile played over her
wan face as she assorted its contents.
She could get through easily by two
o'clock; yes, and IL she hurried, per-
haps by one. Love and anxiety lent
new strength to her weary arms, and
FIVE minutes after the clock struck one
she hung the last garment on tho line,
and was just about emptying her tubs,
when the mistress came in with a
couple of bed quilts, saying:
GAS you have 30 small wash to
day, Ada, l think you may do these
yet"
"After the mistress had turned her
back, a cry of agony, wrung from the
deepest fountain of the washerwo-
mans heart gushed to her lips
Smothering it as best she could, she
set to again, and rubbed, and rinsed,
and hung out. 1t was half past three
when she started for home, an hour
too late" And the aged narrator
sobbed.
can hour too late" continued she,
after long pause. "Her husband
was dying; yes, almost gone. He had
strength given him to whisper a few
words to the half frantic wife, to tell
how he had longed to look upon her
face; that he could not see her then /;
he lay in the shadow of death. One
hour she pillowed his head upon her
suffering heart, and then--he was at
rest!
Mary, Mary, dear, "--and there
was q soul-touching emphasis in the
aged woman's words" be kind to
your washerwoman. Instead Of striv-
ing to make her days work as long as
may be, shorten it, tighten it. Few
women will go out washing daily un-
less their needs are pressing. No wo-
man on her bridal day expects to labor
in that way; and be sure my niece, if
she is constrained to do so, it is the
last resort. That poor woman labor
ing now so hard for you, has not
always been q washerwoman. She
has passed through terrible trials, too.
I can read her story in her pale, sad
face. BE kind to her; pay her what
she asks, and let her go home as early
as she can"
"You have finished in good time to
day, Susan" said Mrs. NJ, as the
washerwoman," with her cloak and
hood on, entered the pleasant room to
get the money she had earned.
"Yss, ma'am have, and my heart
is relieved Of a heavy load, too i was
so afraid 1 should be kept till night
and am needed 90 at home"
rs there sickness therep" said the
old aunt kindly.
Tears gushsd to the woman's eyes
as she answered, "Ah, ma'am, l left
my baby most dead this morning; he
will be quite so tomorrow. i know
it, have seen it so many times; and
none but child of nine years to at
tend him. Oh! 1 must go, and quick
lyw And grasping the money she
had toiled for while her baby was dy-
ing, she hurried to her dreary home.
Shortly after they followed her; the
young wife who had never known sor-
row, and the aged matron whose hair
was white with trouble, followed her
to her drsary home, the home of the
drunkard's babes. She was not too
late. The little dying boy knew its
mother. At midnight he died, and
then kind friends took from the sor-
rowing mother the breathless form,
closed the bright eyes, Strengthened
the tiny limbs, bathed the cold clay,
and folded about it the pure white
shroud; yes, and they did moro--they
gave what the poor so seldom have,
time to weep.
"Oh, auntw said Mrs. NJ, with
tears in her eyes, Z" if my heart blesses
you, how much must poor Susan'sl--
Had it not been for you she would
have been too late. 1t has been sad,
yet holy lesson. / shall always now
be kind 10 the poor washerwoman.-
But aunt, was that story you told me
true one--all true meanY
1.-THE reality of that story whitcned
this head when it had seen but thirty
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