Wood County reporter. [volume] (Grand Rapids [i.e. Wisconsin Rapids], Wis.) 1857-1923, 1874-03-12

old Champaign" a man came slowly
| up the muddy line of road, through the
gate, and around the house; then first the
woman saw him. A slight spasm passed
over her face. There was little pitiful
culver of the muscles about the mouth,
and then she walked slowly down the
ridge to where the man stood. She strug-
gled little with herself before she
said, Well, John, am glad to see you
back"
John tried to be cool also, but nature
was too much for him He could not
raise his eyes TO hers, and his simple
response, Yes, mother" was chokingly
uttered.
The two walked into the house together
in the old familiar way; the woman
without a word began to spread the
table, and her son went out and pre-
pared fuel, and bringing it in replen-
ished the fire. Then he sat down in his
accustomed place by the stove, with
pleasant remark about how well the fire
burned, and how good it seemed to be
home again. And the woman spoke a
few kind, motherly words.
1t was the way they had always done
when John came back, but now there
was a great sadness in it, for he had come
from prison." Jupiter seemed fully to
realize the situation. Ee exhibited none
of that freshness which characterized the
welcome he had usually given; but when
John was seated the old dog came slowly
up to him, laid his fore paws and his head
in his masters lap, and looked sadly In
his face.
AS they sat down to supper, John began
to tell of his fare in the jail at Montreal,
| 70 Of there
"Will you have to go back?" said his
mother, with that culver about the mouth
again. "No, mother" said John, sit is
finished, and / am discharged"
After supper the story was told over,
! how well Johns counsel had worked for
| him, and how the Judge had said there
was not sufficient evidence to convict of
so great crime.
John continued from this time on
through the spring to live at home He
allowed his sloop to float idly in the bay
while, as he said, he himself rested The
| truth was he saw, as others did not,
that his mother had carried a fearful
weight, and now, when it was lifted by his
return, that the resources of her life were
exhausted. The change, not yet apparent
to other eyes, was clear to his vision. So
1t is that these silent spirits read each
other.
As the warm weather advanced, the
strong woman became weak; and as the
June flowers began to bloom, she ceased
to move about much, and sat the most of
each day in a chair by the open door
John managed the house and talked
with his mother Her mind changed
with the relaxation of her physical
frame. She no longer strove to hide
her tears, but, like tired infant, would
weep without restraint or concealment
as she told her son of the early loves
| and romance of her girlhood life in
warm valley of the West. He learned
more of his mothers heart in those June
days than he had surmised from all he
had known of her before And he under
stood what this predicted. He felt that
the heart nearest his own was counting
over the treasures of life ere it surren-
dered them forever.
There was no great scene when the
woman died. 1t was at evening, Just as
the July fervors were coming on. She
had wept much in the morning. AS the
day grew warm she became very weak
and faint, and about noon was moved by
her son from her chair to her bed, and so
died as the sun went down.
John was alone in the house when she |
died. Since his return from Montreal he |
had been made to feel that he had but one
friend besides his mother. Only one
neighbor had called upon him, and that |
was Pete Searles He had ever proved |
true. But John did not like to trouble |
his one friend, who lived two miles |
away, to come and stay with him dur
ing the night. So he lighted candle,
took down from shelf a little Bible and |
hymn-book that he and his mother
had carried on an average about four
times year to a school-hOuse used as
church, some six miles away, and SO alone
with the dead he spent the hours in read
ing and tears and meditation.
In the morning he locked the door of
his home and walked "over to Pete's"
AS he met his friend, he said in clear
voice, but with eyes averted, " She has
gone, Pete; if you will just take the key
and go over there I'll go down to the
lake and get the things, and tell Downer,
and we'll have the funeral, say on Thurs
day"
Pete hesitated moment, then took the
key John offered him, and said eyes,
John, | will tell my woman, and we will
go over and fix it, and be there when you
come back" And so John went on his
way. "Downer" was the minister, and
" the things" were coffin and shroud.
On Thursday was the funeral. Pete |
took care to have all the people of the |
neighborhood there, although it hardly |
seemed as if John desired it. The popu |
lar voice, having once decided it, still held |
John as a murderer, and claimed that he |
was cleared from the charge only by the |
tricks of his lawyer. John knew of this |
decision. At the funeral he was stern, |
cold, white and statue-like. While others |
wept, but few tears fell from his eyes, and |
even these seemed wrung from him by an |
anguish for the most part suppressed or |
concealed.
He chose that his mother should be |
buried, not in the burying ground" at |
the settlement, but upon their own little |
farm where she had rived. And so in a |
spot below the rocky ridge, where wild |
violets grew, she was laid at rest.
John spent the night following the |
funeral at Pete's house, then returned to |
his own home, and from that time his |
solitary life began. He took his cattle |
and his sheep over to Pete's, made all |
fast about his home, and resumed his |
boating upon Lake Champlain. He ,
fully realized that he was marked |
man. He was advised, it was said, even
by his own legal counsel, to leave the
country, and to leave his name behind
him; but no words influenced him. Firm
and steady in his course, strictly temper
ate and just, he won respect where he
could not gain confidence.