Vermont phÅ“nix. [volume] (Brattleboro, Vt.) 1834-1955, 1877-08-10
BRATTLEBORO VT, FRIDAY AUGUST 10, 1877.

must have reached her allotted three-score
years and ten. "Who can she be2' 1 re-
peat, wonderlngly. "She does not belong
TO any of the villages hereabouis, or we
should know her face; and ] cannot imag-
inc what could bring stranger TO the moor
on such a night"
As / spe * a change passes over her face
the eyes unclose, and she looks inqurng-
ly about her. She tries to speak, but is ev-
identity too weak. My wife raises her, and
gives her a spoonful of nourlshment, while
she says soothingly: "Dont try to speak.
You are among friends; and when you are
better you shall tell us all about yourself
Lie still now aud try TO sleep"
The gray head drops back wearily on the
pillow and soon we have the satisfaction
of hearing by the regular respiration that
our patient is asleep.
"You must come to bed now, jessie" /
say. 81 shall ring for Mary, and she can
sit up for the remainder OF the night" But
my wife, who is a tender hearted soul and
a born nurse, will not desert her post so 1
leave her watching and retire TO my solita-
ry chamber.
When we meet in the morning find that
the little old woman has spoken a few
words and seems stronger. "Come in with
me now" says my wife, land let us try TO
find out who she is" We find her propped
into reclining posture with pillows, and
Mary beside her feeding her.
"How are yon now2' asks Jessie, bend
ing over her.
Better, much better, thank you, good
lady," she says in a weak voice which trem-
bles from age as well as weakness. "And
very grateful to you for your goodness"
hear at once by The accent tha: she is
English. "Are you strong enough 10 tell
me how you got lost on the moor, aud
where you came from, and where you were
going?' continues my wife.
"Ah! was going to my lad, my poor
lad, and now doubt l shall never see him
more" says the poor soul, with long sigh
Of WEAKNESS.
"Where is your lad. aud how far have
you Gomez"
"My lad is soldier at Fort George; and
1 have come all the way from Liverpool 10
see him, aud give him his old mothers
blessing before he goes to the Indies" And
ness and weakness, the little old woman
tells us her pitiGul story.
Her lad, she tells US, is her ouly remain
ing child. She had six, and this, the young
est, is the only one who did not die Of want
dnring the Lancashire cotton famine. He
grew UP fine likely boy, The comfort and
pride of his mothers heart, and the stay of
her declining years. But "strike" threw
him out Of work, and unable to endure the
privation and misery, in fiji Of despera-
ton he "lsted." His regiment was quar-
tered at Fort George, and be wrote regular
ly TO his mother, his letters getting more
cheerful and hopeful every day until sud
denly he wrote that his regiment was Or
dered 10 India, and begging her 10 send
him her blessing, as lie had not money
enough 10 carry him TO Liverpool 10 see
her. The aged mother, widowed and child
less, save for this one rena inlng boy, felt
that she must look on his face once more
before she died. She begged froEi few
ladies, whose kindness had kept her from
the workhouse, sufficient money to carry
her by train to Glasgow; and from thence
she had made her way, now on foot, now
begging lifl in passing cart or wagon, 10
within few miles of Fort George, when
she was caught in the snow storm, and
wandering flom the road, would have per-
ished in the snOw-bul for Laddie.
My wife is in tears and Mary is sobbing
audiLly az the little old woman concludes
her simple and touching story, and | walk
TO the window and look out for nome mt
before am able to ask her what her sons
name is. As tell her we are but a few
miles from Fort George, aud that l will
send over for him, a smile OF extreme con-
tent illuminates the withered face. "His
name is John Salter," she says. "He is a
tall handsome lad "they will know him
by that"
l hasten down stairs aud write short
note 10 Col. Freeman, whom know inti-
mately, Informing him OF the circumstance
and begging him that he will allow John
Salter 10 come over at once, and dispatch
my groom in the dog cart, that he may
bring him back without loss of time. As
1 return TO the house amer seeing him start
meet DR.. Bruce leaving the house.
"Poor old SOUL" he says cher troubles
are nearly over; she is sinking fast. al
most doubt whether she will live Till hes
son comes"
"How she could have accomplished such
a journey at her age, cannet understand"
/ observe.
"Nothing is impossible 10 a MOTHER" an
swers DR.. Bruce; "but it has killed her."
go in 4; but find / cannot settle to my
usual occupations. My thoughts are with
the aged heroine who is dying up stairs,
and presently yield 10 the fascination
which draws me back to her presence.
AS DR.. Bruce says, she is sinking fast.
She lies back on the pillows, her cheeks as
sshy gray as her hair. She clasps my wlfe's
hand in hers, but her eyes are wide open,
and have an eager, expectant look in them.
"At what time may we expect themf"
whispers my wife to me.
mot before four" whisper in the same
tone.
"He will be too late, fear" she says
"she is getting rapidly weaker"
But love is stronger than death, and she
,OiU not go until her son comes. All
through the winters day she lies dying,
obediently taking what nourishment is
given 10 her, hut never speaking except to
say: "My lad, my lad God is good; He
will not let me die until he comes"
And at last / hear the dog cart. lay
my finger on my lip and tell Mary to go
aud bring John Salter up very quietly. But
my caution is needless; the mother has
heard the sound, and with last effort OF