The Middlebury register. [volume] (Middlebury, Vt.) 1850-1882, 1870-01-25


! and saying he wouldn't take cent Of
pay he was ashamed of himself, and that
his wife had his breakfast waiting on
him; and away he ran with his hat cram
/ med down on his head with the cotton
lining on the outside
, The little incident showed that mother
was kind-hearted, reasonable woman,
began to think my uncle Peter Whitaker
was himself to blame that he did not find
her good obligng neighbor.
often had hard work to keep myself
under.prope restraint.
One day my mind had been dwelling
upon my school days, and felt in mood
for writing. In the afternoon | dressed
up freshly, in my newest white dress, and
went away up stairs where could be un-
disturbed. had written two verses, and
was deeply in the enjoyment of the coming
poem, The Meadow Path," when heard
a great commotion and squaling among
the geese, and going down stairs the cause
was apparent.
Mother met Inc at the gate in such out
landish attire that | did not know her.
She wore dingy old flannel dress, her
neck bundled up with cotton shawl and
a handkerchief tied around head, so as to
cover her ears and hair.
She said the geese were all at home
now, and she was afraid of rain, and thought
we'd better pick them that afternoon. |
couldn't write verses only when the poet
ical mood was upon me, and didn't know
when that would be again and was so
sorely disappointed | cried.
She saw my red eyes, and divning the
reason, said, "Oh. you'll have to drop
good many of your fne-lady ways if you
make farmers wife ~
So dressed up, after the fashion of
women who pick geese, and worried
through as long an afternoon as ever
lived. My head ached and my poor arms
were bitten over with blue spots, and |
could hardly keep from crying before
John.
Some time in the night was awakened
by low, moaning sound coming from
mothers room. threw a shawl over my
shoulders and softly drew near her bed,
when | heard her suppressed cries of pain.
said, care you sick mother ?"
"Oh, is that you, Chatty ?" she replied,
with sense Of relief in her tones 'don't
let me disturb you-you are tired and
need your sleep. Oh, my body and limbs
are all cramped and cold, but maybe I'll
get warm pretty soon and feel better. Go
to your bed, and don't let me disturb
you"
Il laid my hand ON her forehead and it
was cold and clammy, and big drops of
sweat stood upon it. soon heated water
and made teas, and had her wrapped in
warm fannels, and before half an hour she
was comfortable. As she became easy she
closed her eyes, and was sinking into rest
full slumber when touched my lips in
blessing upon her forehead
"Oh, Chatty, child of mine," she said,
crying right out, "I've never been half
good enough to you / should not have
taken you from your writing to-day; you
little, tender thing, what pity your fell
into such cruel hands :"
i slid my arm around her neck neck
and gathered her to my bosom, and cried
over the dear old broken-down mother
the woman of many sorrows, stricken
when in full leaf and blossom with
blight that would have been death to any
other less brave, and noble, and true.
! crept into the bed beside her, and
just as she was sinking into sweet and
painless sleep, her tremulous voice said,
"Chatty, don't ever tell it, but it is the
truth; never did one Of my daughters
come to me in answer to my moans of
distress when was sick at night. Why
was it? Didn't they love me as much as
you ?"
l soothed her by saying | had always
been the little nurse and doctor at home,
and my car was ever open to catch any
cry ofpain. 1t Gained her and she rested
until morning.
Little things like this drew us together
and soon we became warmly attached to
each other Oh, we had pleasant times
together-my mother.in.law and |.
When wee baby Charlie came to me,
the little pink and white flower, his
grandmother opened her arms to him as
though he was great blessing sent to her
from heaven. He touched her heart and
filled it with a joy she had never known
before. The fountains of my own soul
were opened, and life assumed new reali.
ties and new beauties, and a sweet song of
newness broke from my lips and flooded
my soul.
Crowned with motherhood, | walked
with feet anointed, and the glory of the
stars seemed to gather about my brows.
From the time that mother was attack.
ed with sickness in the night she seemed
to fail, and to grow more and more lovely
as she gradually faded from earth. She
would sit for hours and play with the
baby, and laugh at his funny little ways,
and think he looked just like her babies,
who had lain under the daisies for twenty
years.
1t is very pleasant to die thus-like
light growing DINNER and DINNER like
the sunset that fading from the hll.tops
into soi: twilight gray-creeping into
the dimness Of darkness gradually.
Nv '"'' 9uh'i"cr VIC iiVeu together we
had not much work to do, and | look
back now to that May aud June and Oc-
tober as | would remember song, or
poem, or book read by the seaside. or
something that gave me a sweet pleasure
and left but beautiful memories.
After she was confined to her bed she
would lie and watch me, and follow my
tootstep with tender loving gazc-eyes
full of the light Of love, and often she
would say to me ;"Oh, Chatty, you are
my best child | know | have been stern
and cold, but you have always been the
same dutiful daughter. You have over
looked my faults, and you have kept
back the unkind reply many time when
Il u L. Ilpi..s4 10 X.,.. L !.