Spirit of the age. [volume] (Woodstock, Vt.) 1845-1913, 1880-07-14
Johns DREAM.
nv EMILY II. LELAND,

wv s'Af' 80 sf'fNs''f
Johns mother was dead. Nothing
40 sad could ever happen to hin
again, And yet he had a long lite be
fore him, for his thirteenth birthday
had taken place only q short time be
fore ,hcy carried his mother away tt
her pretty resting place in the GENE
tery.
lie thought he iclt the worst and
biiterest sorrow when II became
known that tho little mother must die
when hls father camo 10 him to tel
him there was no hope and that he
must try aud bear II like a man, foI
his mothers sake. And he did try
Only the pallor ofhis cheek, the quiv-
er Of his lips and the strong cling OF
his arms as ho went in and kissed his
mother good bye-for her last con-
scious moments were passing-told
her that her big boys heart was al
most breaking.
"Denr-dear Jack !" were the last
words from her lips, and there was a
look in her eyes as she whispered
them that John could never forget
Out Of the deep sleep that soon came
upon her she never wakened again to
the sights and sounds of this world,
but passed silently into the invisible
life.
His mother had many friends, and
all tender and gracious sympathles
came pouring quietly into the stricken
household. John still tried through
il all 10 "be man. He even felt q
sort Of loving pride thrilling his heart
in the rare flowers that made his
mother lock MS If she we're lying in a
bed OF lilies. The choir chanted, he
thought. more sweetly than on other
occasions, and the minister pro-
nounced beautiful praises which he
knew his mother was worthy of.
But after all was over, and he had
returned to the orderly, pleasant home,
aud his steps turned by mere force of
habit to the room where he was most
likely to find "mamma. his great
grief burst upon him like flood.
There was no longer any mother to
be found. He went slowly up to his
room and sat down on his bed in a
stupor of sorrow. He felt what an
inconsistent thought it waS, and yet
if he could only have even his moth
er's hand to cry his heart out on He
had always gone to her with his few
boyish troubles, and now to whom
could he 90 with this great grief?
His father had told him to be a man,
but his father had not lost his mother.
His father wouldn't be a man if he
had lost his own, own mother And
then John buried his face in his pillow
and had bis cry out, indeed, for when
the afternoon had deepened into twi-
light and twilight changed to night
he was still there lying. upon his face,
a half sob now and then shaking the
mercitul sleep that had stolen over
him.
The lonesome tea-lonesome in
spite Of the two or three friends pre-
siding over it-being ready, and no
response from John 10 its tinkling
his father went up and
looked into his room, waiting not
quite long enough to hear tho faint
spasmodic sobs He closed the door
softly and went down again-"Poor
fellowl- IL wish l could sleep like
that!'' he said, feeling quite alone in
his sorrow. '1t will be but an April
storm to such a young teart."
But it was more than an April
storm to John. 1t seemed as If the
things would never stop happening in
which be missed his mother. He was
a shy, somewhat awkward boy. and
not handsome-the very sort Of boy
TO look to o mother love for comfort
and encouragement. And he had al.
ways found it. She always knew Of
something to praise in him; and he
never went of to school or play With.