The Evansville journal. [volume] (Evansville, Ind.) 1866-1870, 1868-05-21


wise she seemed calm and quiet, never
for once taking her eyes from Judge
ThOrne's face, reading him throughS
and through.
Il viii answer you tomorrow, she
said, when he had done; then she
turned away and went up to her own
room. What fierce conflict she waged
there with her own heart, we can
never know; but her unsel6sh love
conquered at last.
With the Autumn the little rescued
went 10 his new home.
You shall come to US often,
Anita" Mrs. Thorne had said but
the quiet answer was: No, Mrs.
Thorne, it lis not best-it would be
harder to leave him again, and my
place IS here.
The little mothers face grew some
what paler and thinner; but there
was no outward change, except that
the wealth Of care and tenderne
which she had lavished for years
upon the one-loved object, was dis
tributed now to bless and cheer the
many.
1t was she who gathered the little
| children of the village together in a
| school, which she taught, not so much
/ from text books as from shells and
stones and flowers, planting in their
/ young hearts that seed Of love for
| God and all he has made, which
would spring up by and by in a plenti-
| ful harvest of faith and right living. 1t
was she who read the Bible to the old
| who smOOthed the pillow of the sick
who wept with the widow and or
/ phan; and whose sweet voice put In
words the last prayer of the dying.
! She herself sickened at last, vast
/ ing slowly but surely.
4" | don't think we'd ever rightly
/ known how much she suffered all her
\ life" Old John Gray said to me as we
/ sat together Ia the church door one
/ Sabbath afternoon after service, look
4 ing toward the graveyard, whose sim
/ pie stones were shining in the pro-
phetic glory of sunset. She was so
/ cherry and patient like, never talking
/ of herself. 1t was so to the last.
/ There was only one thing which she
/ lOnged for after she felt she couldn't
I live, and that was to see the boy
/ again. She hadn't seen HIM for six
years, for the Thornes had been in
4 England for that long. As she got
weaker she mOurned the more. Oh,
/ | want to be willing she used to say
4 but if it could be Gods will to let
/ me see him once morel'"
There was heavy storm the night
/ she died The wind hOwled around
the old house, and we could scarcely
hear one another speak for the noise
\ of the sea. | never can forget how
-l, L. / III To-
1 in, with her white face and her eyes
so big and bright. All at once she
spoke: It's eighteen years ago to-
/ night, says she, " 10 just such a storm
as this, that God sent my boy" and
while the words were In her mouth,
[ heard a noise of wheels outdoors,
and a stamping on the steps, and the
kitchen door opened, and he came in
-mangrown and tall and stout-a
| likelier Iookin' lad | never laid my
eyes on, but the same Rescued after
1 all!
How is she?" he whispered; we
landed last week, and it's only yester-
day that I heard through Jacob
1 Thompson that she was sick
Il held my finger for him to speak
lower, but it was no Use-she'd heard
him, and she started up In bed, with
her lips apart and her eyes on the
door. [ beckoned 10 him, then, and
he came in. oh, little motherp he
just sobbed, and she put her two arms
around his neck without word, and
he laid her down gently. Oh, sir, you
never saw such a faee You know
how the good book says they saw Ste
phen Swell, hers was like that"
Somehow, words didn't mean
much then, and we all kept still. He
sat by her side and held her hand till
clear midnight; then a change came
over her. Her eyes had an old look,
and we could see she wasn't with US
any more. All at once she raised up.
He's waking up, She said, the pre-
cious lambp and then she began to
sway herself back and forth, and to
sing the little song she used to rock
him TO sleep with:
4 sleep, little one, like a lamb in the fold,
Shut from the tempest, safe from the
J Sleep, little one. like a star in the sky;
Wrapped in a cloud while the storm wind
sweeps by
Her voice grew fainter and faint
er, and sweeter and sweeter, and so
she died.