The Redwood gazette. [volume] (Redwood Falls, Minn.) 1873-1940, 1877-10-04
to think there should be such sense in q
animal masses naep

one of the men for the doctor, who fort
unately lives within stones throw OF ID
and hurry ON myself to prepare my wifS
for what is coming. She runs out int
the hall to meet me. "Well?" she aski
eagerly. ;. !
1--WE have found poor old woman" I
say; but do not know whether she is
alive or dead" j
My wife throws her arms around me
and gives me great hug.
"YOu will find dry things and . jug Of
hot toddy in your dressing room, dear, -
she says; and this is all the revenge she
takes on me for my skepticism. The poor
old woman is carried up. stairs and placed
in q warm bath under my wife's direc.
ton; and before the doctor arrives she
has shown some faint symptoms of life
SO my wife sends me word. DIR. Bruce
shakes his head when he sees her, Poor
old SOUL" he says; "how came she out
on the moor on such q fearful night?
doubt she has received a shock which al
her age she will not easily get over"
They manage, however, to force q few
spo0nfuls of hot brandy and water down
her throat; and presently q faint color
fickers on her cheek, and the poor eve.
lids begin to tremble. My wife raises her
head and makes her swallow some cor.
dial which DR.. Bruce had brought with
him, and then lays her back among the
now" says DIR. Bruce, as her breathing
" Nourishment and warmth will do the
rest but she has received q shock from
which, I fear, she will never recover -
and, SO saying, he takes his leave.
By and by l 60 up to the room and find
my wife watching alone by the aged suf-
ferer. She locke up at me with tears in
her eyes. "POOr old sOul!' she says;
81 am afraid she will not rally from the
cold and exposure"
go round to the other side of the bed
and lcok down upon her. The age6 face
looks wan and pinched, and the scanty
still wet from the snow. She is a very
little woman, as far as ! can judge of her
in her recumbent position, and l should
think must have reached her allotted
three score years and ten. "Who can she
he ?" repeat, wonderingly. "Sbt does
not belong to any of the villages mere
abouts, or we should know her face
and ! cannot imagine what could bring a
euuuyCI W Tic lUOOI Ou SUCu d ulkul.
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
raises her and gives her spoonful of
nourishment, while she says, soOthingly
Don't try to speak. You are among
friends; and when you are better you
shall tell us all about yourself. Lie still
now, and try to Sleep"
The gray head drops back YEARLY on
the pillow; and soon we have the satisfac.
ton of hearing by the regular respiration
that our patient is asleep.
You can 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 q tender hearted soul
and born nurse,. win not desert her post
so I leave her watching, and retire to my
solitary 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 up in reclining posture
with pillows, and Mary beside her feeding
her.
How are you now" asks Jessie, bend
ing over her.
"Better, much better, thank you, good
lady," she says, in a voice which
trembles from age as we'll as weakness.
And very grateful to you for your good
ness"
1 hear at once by the accent that she is
English. Are you strong enough to tell
me now you got lost on the moor, and
where you came from, and where you
were going" continues my wife.
"Ah! Twas going to my lad, my poor
lad, and now doubt shall never, never
see him MORE" says the poor soul, with q
long sigh of WEAKNESS.
"Where is your lad, and how far have
you cOme?'
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 WEAKNESS xRd weakness, the
little old woman tells us her pitiful story
Her lad, she tells us, is her only re.
naming child, She had six, and this, the
youngest, 10 the only one who did not die
of want during 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 1T Of desperation he "list-
ed" His regiment was quartered at Fort
George, and he wrote regularly to his
mother, his letters getting more cheerful
and hopeful every day; until suddenly
ha vr0fe IN sav that HE reOssnne,t xvas
ordered to India, and begging her to
send him her blessing, .as he had not
enough money to carry him to Liverpool
to see her The aged mother, widowed
and childless, save for this one remaining
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, sufficient
money to carry her by train to Glas-
gov; and from thence she had made her
way, now ON foot, now begging lift in
q passing cart or wagon, to within few
miles of Fort George, when she was caught
in the snOw-stOrm; and wandering from
the read would have persisted in the snow
but for Laddie. ,+z..~at
NY wife is in tears and Mary Is Sob
bling audibly as the little old woman con-
cludes her simple and touching story,
and walk to the window and look out
what her sons name is. As tell her that
and that will send over for him, smile
of extreme content illumines the withered
face Ellis nane is John Salter," she
says. 50 He b Q tall, handsome lad they
will know him by that" d
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