The Cincinnati daily star. [volume] ([Cincinnati, Ohio]) 1875-1880, 1879-12-09

me that morning hefors he went away
to his work, and Z lay and cried when !
remembered that parting till ! thonght
my very heart wsuld break.
But mother only ssid,: Cry all YOU
can, my poor NelI-it'n do thee good"
for l had been out Of my head for many
/ days, and then hard sort of way came
over me, and T seemed to feel no more
than if l had been, turned to stone. So
she was thankful at last to, see the tears
come, though. they seemed to tear my
life-strings as they ran. rf SLY
When was we'll enough TO walk acress
the kitchen, she holding me-fer kept
weak as cat-and sit in an easychair
placed in front Of the door, tile grass in
the meadows was all cut and the hay
carried, and the cattle were grazing
where the buttercups had been; and
there lay blue haze over the further
landscape, that looked like thin veil
hung between us and the pine-trees in
the distance. Behind our cottage wheat,
was growing, and the ears were already
full, and the grain ripe, and the harvest
quite ready for the reaper.
But Ben would never, see earthly grain
nor human reaper more. I had cried all
my tears, or l should have wept when I
crept out into the sunshine once again
There were the flowers his hands had
planted, the scarlet-runners he had sown,
the potatoes he had earthed up, the roses
he had trained-but where was he?
There was not bush in the garden but
recalled some memory of the dead. The
very click Of the latch on the gate I as
sociated with his outgoing and his in
coming.
It seemed to- me an if he could not
have gone forever; as if he must return,
and come whistling down the lane and
crunch the gravel under his feet as he
came up the walk and shout: "Hillo!
Why, Jimmy! why, Susy!" as the chill
dren ran to meet him, and clasped him
round the knees and shrieked with de-
light because "daddy had got home"
/ had no tears left to shed, and there
was no wicked bitterness in my grief,
thank God. I was sad and lonely and
weak, but not desperate; when I lay back
in the old easy-ehair, with the flowers
round and about me, and the air full of
all sweet scents, and mother sitting close
at hand shelling beans for supper.
VIII ther it was my fancy or the way
the light fell, l do not know, but it struck
me all at once she had aged greatly since
Ben's death. l ''V
What mother she was! What a
wife she had been! through what troubles
struggled to bring up her children re-
spectabfyf Poor father was not man
like BEN Often as not he never brought
home farthing of his wages. He was a
good workman, but he drank himself out
of one situation after another; and when
at last he fell i'll, she had to hurse him
and keep him, all out of her own hard
earnings. and finally to bury him, too,
with the money she made by washing
for q few of the gentry round and about
I thought Of all this as looked at the
worn, patient face bent down over the
beans, at her thin brown hands, hardened
with the honest labor Of years, at her
plain stuff gown, at the snowy handker-
chief folded across her bosom; and my
heart reproached me for all the anxiety
my illness must have caused her; fol
having thought SO much Of my own
tsouble that I had never considered the
trouble I must be giving her.
TTo BE CONTINUED.