Litchfield enquirer., 1877-08-09

the blankets, anu S6nGly dnu ConuFTly tu0 men prepareto to carry their poor helpless burden over the .snew.a aasn3 sij5 k, sB4 T am afraid your mistress will be Tn bod, say, as we begin to retrace our steps. .asaas -aafa-a <.aasa'9 e3f s9s
 "Never. fear. Sir" says Donald with 2 triumphant glance at John; "the mistress will be up and waitin' flor Us. She kens Laddie didna bring us putin the snaw for naething." tgf-.-s.. s,-,a Sa r.aze
 'Iu never, say nought about believing dawg again." says John. gracefully striking his colors. ''You were right and I was wrong, and that's all abour 1t; but to think there should be such sense in animal passes nse! *. 6s- f.as. ss. As we reach the avenue gate dispatch one of the men for the doctor, who fortu-. nately lives within stone's-throw of us, and hurry on myself to prepare my wife | for what is coming. She runs out into | the hall to meet me. ''Well?" she asks ea- gerly. s&3H s-..4 1Aa
 i've have found poor old woman" l sag;=a sl,nt ao=aot- knoW whether sha ls alive or dead" M a My wife throws her arms round me and 1 gives me great hug. a3a l ''You will find dry things and jug of | hot toddyx in your dressing room, dear, 1"
 
 | takes on me for my skepticism. The poor old woman Is carried up stairs and placed in warm bath under my wife's direction; and before the doctor arrives she has shown some faint symptoms of life; so my | wife sends me word. Dr. Bruce shakes his head when he sees her. "Poor old soul" he says; 'shoW came she out on the moor on such fearful night? doubt she has received shock, which at her ageshe will not easily get over.'
 They manage, however, to force few spoonfuls of hot brandy and water down her throat; and presently faint color | fickers on her cheek, and the poor old eyelids begin to tremble. My wife raises l her head and makes her swallow some cordial which Dr. Bruce has brought with him, and then lays her back among the soft warm pillows. Fl think sine will ral- ly now, says Dr. Bruce. as her breathing becomes more audible and regular. ''Nourishment and warmth will do the rest; but she has received shock from which. fear, she will never recover;" and so saying he takes his leave. @ @l.. n
 By and by l go up to the room and find my wife watching alone by the aged suf ferer. Sae looks up at ne with tears in her eyes. ""Poor old soul" she says; 1T am afraid she will not rally from the cold and exposure. 'Go9 gi5od gEw sgar adf u l I go round to the other side of, the bed and look down upon her. The, aged face 1 looks wan and pinched, and the scanty gray locks which lie on the pillow are still wet from the snow. She is very lit- tie woman, if I can iudge of her in, her recumbent position, and I should think must have reached her allotted three score years and ten. 15''She does not belong to any of the villages ~hereabouts,p or we l should know her face; and l cannot imag- inc what could bring Q stranger to tho moor on such 8 night" HH' 'o ,".1s1
 As speak change passes over her face; the eyes unclose, and she looks in- quiringly about her. She tries to speak, but is evidently too weak. My wife rais- es her, and gives her a.spoonfulnof nour. ishment, while she says soothingly: "Don't try to speak. You are among friends;x and when you are better you shall tell us all about yourself. Lie still now and try to sleep"
 The gray head drops back wearily on the pillow; and soon We have the satisfac- tion of hearing by the regular respiration that our patient IS asleep. "
 You must come to bed now, Jessie, :" 1 say. ''I shall ring for Mary, and she can sit up for the remainder of the night. " But my wife, who is tender-hearted soul and born nurse, will not desert her post; 30 1 leave her watching and retire to my solitary chamber. .i !
 When we meet in the morning find that the little old woman has spoken 8 few words and seems stronger. "Come in with me now" says my wis, sand let us try to find ont who she is." We find her proped into reclining posture with pillows, and Mary beside her feeding her. "How are you now?" asks Jessie, bend ing over her. w 3...I
 l. Better, much better, thank you, good lady" she says in voice which trembles from age as we'll as weakness. "And very grateful to you for your goodness"
 1 hear at once by the accent that she IS English. Are you strong enough to tell me how you got lost on the moor, and where you came from, and where you I were going? continues my wife. -|A." | "Ah! I was going to my lad, my poor lad, and now doubt shall never see I him more," says the poor soul, with g long sigh of weariness.
 ''Where is yoar lad, and how far have you come?" abolnfg af3}5 dI .saal
 My lad is soldier at Fort George; and have come all the way from Liver pool to see him, and give him his old mothers blessing before he goes to the Indies.' And then, brokenly, with long pauses of weariness and weakness, the lit- tle old woman tells us her pitiful story. l Her lad, she tells us, is her only re. maining child. She had six, and this, the youngest. is the only one who did not die of want, during the Lancashire cotton famine. He grew up fine likely boy. ! ho n1 AZ heart, and the stay of her declining years. l But '''strlke" threw him out of work, and unable to endure the privatipn and misery, in fit of desperation T he ''listed. II His regiment was quar! tered at Fort George, and he wrote regu- larly to his mother. his letters getting more cheerful and hopeful every day; un- til staddesivs ho wrote to say that his regi- ment was ordered to India, and begging her to send him her blessing, as he had not enough money to carry him to Liver pool to see her. The aged mother, wid- owed and childless, save for this one re- maining boy, felt that she must look on his face once more before she died. She begged from few ladies, whose kindness had kept her from the work-house, snt1i- cient money to carry her by. train to |. Glasgow; and from thence she had made her way, now on foot, now begging a lift ln passing cart or wagon, to within a few miles of Fort George. when she was caught in the snow storm; and wandering from the road. would have perished in the snow-but for Laddie a-ag.sgl}l.ss
 My wife is in tears and Mary is sobbing audibly at the little old woman concludes her simple and touching story, and walk to the window and look out for moment 1 before I am able to ask her what her sons name is. As I tell her that we are but few miles from Fort George, and that will send over for him, smile of ex- treme content illumines the withered face. , t"His name is John. Salter,9a she says.
 "He is tall, handsome lad; they will know him by that. ''42os @aps 9i8nis A 1go , hasten down stairs and wratea short note to. Col. Freeman, whom | know inti- mately, informing him If the circumstance and begging that he will allow John Sal kk.I.