The weekly clarion. [volume] (Jackson, Miss.) 1863-1882, 1879-05-14

ucSAdFInG LAaI mite 1aoI0 VAS the YER
lest darling she had ever seen. that he
F reminded her of our youngest. and that
she would like To carry him off, prob
ably because we had not enough of our
i own.
/ Now, she was woman not given to
morbid fancies, thoroughly healthy,
with plenty of common-sense. So | was
little surprised at this extravagant ad-
miration, and to hear her say that the
child bore any resemblance to ours, |
could see none but it was . her holiday,
and she was not to be crossed.
Well, if was surprised by this, judge
how much more so | was when she sud-
denly, one morning, announced her wish
to return home.
4" We have not been away three weeks,
| mildly protested.
No" she said, 'but l have got a
strange longing to see the children; |
can't bear to be away from them any
longer. | never have been away from
them two days, much less two weeks,
before, and l can't bear it; must go
back"
And leave thus suddenly your pref
~ little protege on the hill up therep
ventured to say.
" Yes" she answered, that is the
reason; that is what has made me wish
to go. | mean that sight of that moth
er's love for her child makes me envious;
want to be with my own"
What could | say? 1t was her holiday,
to do as she pleased with if she pleased
to cut it short she must.
We will be off tonight, love-" |
said; but inwardly l was grieved, sad
dened, not only by the disappointment,
but because, seeing that we had excel
lent accounts from home, this strange
freak had something morbid in it unlike
her. Yet there was no appeal, and |
began making arrangements for our de-
parture.
q You will go up and say goodbye to
the little chap, your friend?" | asked.
Certainly" she answered; you will
come with me, wont you?"
1--WE will go at once, | said. was
the slave; | had nothing to do but to
obey.
1t was wild and gusty day for Au-
gust, and the landscape looked less in
viting than usual as we assembled the
zigzag path leading to the sanctuary,
little above which on the hillside lay the
home of our new friends. At one of the
angles near the top of this zigzag, the
path passed perilously close to steep
precipice, which for some distance formed
one bank Of a mountain stream as it
came tearing down over a rocky bed.
This spot was a great height from the
level of the lake, and the precipice itself
{. 10
river. A few rough bushes made fee
BILE parapet on the broken ground at the
actual edge, but beyond these there was
nothing but a sheer down wall Of rock
As we reached this corner we saw hut-
tering in the wind what looked at first
like handkerchief hanging from one of
the bushes, but which proved ON our
coming closer to be the garment Of
child, who was standing at the very edge
of the ehasm.
"How dangerous y exclaimed my wife;
who can have left child in such a
placer"
1t was solitary walk this, especially
at midday, and we had not met crea-
ture since we had cleared the outskirts
of the town, except an old monk tod
ding down upon some mundane errand.
"Ah. :" she cried, as we got still near
er, why it is-ves, | declare-why, it
is dear little Paolo- himself Good gra-
cious he has strayed away down here
alone to look for blackberries, no doubt"
and as she spoke she rushed forward,
and selling the child by the skirt, drew
it back from the perilous edge over
which it was crawling. As | came up
l II L IL Il
crying bitterly, and he Immediately
began pointing down toward the stream,
and lisping out, Mia madre, mia ma
Dire I"
| bent over and looked down in the
direction the little one was pointing, and
to my dismay among the rocks at the
verge of the river beheld, lying pros
trate thirty feet below, the motionless
form of the mother.
Then ensued scene which | will not
dwell upon. | flew up to the sanctuary
for assistance. My wife, clasping the
little one in her arms, fastened down to
a place where it was ust possible by a
very rough scramble to get around to
the bed of the river. Here | and those
whom | had brought with me presently
joined her, and we made our way to the
luckless woman She was not dead,
but quite insensible, and after infinite
trouble and care we managed to carry
her up to her home, my wife with Paolo
in her arms preceding us, and breaking
the sad news to the aged father.
The only sort of medical aid obtain
able in that primitive place came from
the sanctuary, and soon an old monk,
to whom the natives all seemed to defer,
was in. attendance, and after careful ex-
animation of the patient pronounced
that by great mercy no bones were bro
ken, but that the poor woman was suf
fering from conclusion of the brain, and
that some weeks might elapse before she
would be about again.
''Do you still hold to your determin-
alton of returning home" said to my
wife when the excitement and the sor-
row which this catastrophe had caused
were little abated; for | own | was
selfish enough to hope that out of this
evil good might come in the shape of
making her prolong her holiday. The
hope was realized.
"No," she answered perhaps I
can be of some use here; will not 90
back yet. This little one will want a
mothers care now; | will be that moth
er, for | loved him more than ever, and
| wish more than ever that he belonged
to me"
| need hardly say that, under other
circumstances | should have entirely
objected to her assuming such maternal
responsibilities; that | should have
pointed out that it was no duty of hers,
a well-born lady, in this fashion to look
after the offspring of an unknown peas
ant woman, and that there were plenty
of neighbors willing and ready to under
take the task and who were really the