Oxford Democrat. [volume] (Paris, Me.) 1833-1933, 1878-07-30
Tear and Tear.
Detroit Free Press.i

When they found her dead in her old
chair the men noticed nothing but the
poverty surrounding her. The women
saw tear in her eyes before they noticed
anything else. Some had called her bag,
and spoken of her house as hovel. Some
had heard her curss and seen her reeling
along, and they looked closer to see il it
was tear. Ii was tear-a great round
tear, and it rested on her wrinkled cheek
as if human hand had placed il there.
isn't it strange that she shed tear,
even in death ;" they whispered.
So il was, and yet it was not When
death comes slowly the crust melts from
the wickedest heart, snd human nature
comes back with all the love and charity
and sorrow and pity which heart ever had.
Death came slowly to her AS she sat in
the old chair and watched the sun 90
down and the shadows come. she knew
she would not live to again hear the notes
Of the morning birds. Men and women
passed her door, but she did not cry out
Over the heads of the raeeful children
playing at the curb-stone she saw dark
err shadow than the rest. Il was the shad-
ow of death. 1t Aoated over the heads
OF the children as fog drifts along the
rivers surface, and as ii stopped at her
own door, she knew that the shadow was
chilling her sunshine Of life.
There was not living thing in or
around the house for her to love for her
To part with. No birds built their nests IN
der the lonely eaves-no cat or dog bssk-
ed in the sunshine creeping 10 through the
dusty windows-even tho rats and mice
seemed to avoid the place The husband
had been dead so long that she scarcely
gave his memory 4 thought Her boy!
All, that was it. AS the shadow entered
the door and cast It's chill over her, she
whispered;
John was wicked He ran Away--he
stole from me, he beat me,'
Tie had gone to the war She had not
heard from him even once, Yet, when the
hearts crust melted, thesi5se of a mother
crcpt in, and she whispered:
Poverty vexed me Despair made me
drink. Desperation mad me curse loud.
er thsn my boy could. HoWas a good boy
once made him bad! i his own moth
er, drove him into the streets-beat him
abused him, and when | could have
Won him back by kind, motherly word
would not speak it Ii he were here to-
night I would sing those old child-songs
TO him would tel him those old stories
II would look upon him as my own
precious child! Here in the shadow Of
death, ask his tOrgivenocs--I ask God
to forgive me /"
Later, when the dusk was deeper and
the black shadow crePt yet nearer, boy
searched about her door for lost ball,
And heard her murmur
John, won't you forgive your mother ?
am dying, John, but al the old love has
come back to me am your mo,her-I
want to hold you in my arms and kiss
you a. | used To want to hear your
voice and know that you forgive me :"
Her arms were outstretched. Her 6ng-
ers felt Of the dArkness-nOthing more.
Il want you to call me mother again -
she entreAted. 81 want to smooth back
your hair as | used to- want to look
into your eyes and see il you still hate
me
And those who found her knew not the
feeling that had brought the tear, nor
that it was the last Of many which had
burned her cheeks as tae gloom grew
deeper aud the chilling breath Of the
shadow made her heart beat slower.