The Republican. [volume] (Oakland, Md.) 1877-current, 1880-12-11
The Old Blue Chest.

ONE day last week five or six women
with serious faces and hushed voices
were gathered in room in house on
Fort Street. For two years a poor old
woman had lived there, not exactly a
beggar nor an object of charity, but GER
tainly in want. She had husband when
she first moved there poor old man
whose days could not be long; but one
day he was missing. He may have
fallen into the river, or he may have
wandered out into the country and died.
This left the old woman alone, and
there were days and days in which no
one went near her or addressed her.
The other day when she felt the chill of
death approaching she wanted some
one with her. She had lived alone, but
she could not die that way. She wept
as tender hands clasped hers and kind
voices addressed her. Death had al
ready placed its mark on her face, and
the women could do nothing. While
their tears fell upon her wrinkled hands
she passed away us child sleeps.
There was but little in the room be-
yond an old chest-battered and bruised
and splintered, but yet holding together.
1t had seen strange times, that old blue
chest. 1t had held silks and broad
cloths perhaps-it had surely held rags.
1t had been moved from house to house
and from town to town. 1t had listened
to laughter, and had heard sobs and
means. 1t had grown old no faster
than the woman whose hands had so
often lifted its lid. 1t had doubtless
kept the company of good carpets and
furniture and crockery, and laughing,
romping children had climbed over it
or hidden in it. It had faded, and its
hinges were rusty and weak, but it had
outlived its owner.
The women looked about for gar
ments in which to enshroud the dead.
Nothing was in sight. One of them
lifted the lid of the old blue chest, and
called the others to help drag it out from
its dark corner. 1t held treasure-such
treasure as men could not buy
nor poverty steal away. There
was dress of fine material,
cut after a fashion of long years
ago. For twenty years the chest had
been its guardian. 1t would have sold
for few dollars, but though the gnaw-
ings of hunger had come often and the
cold had fought its way to her marrow,
that poor old woman would not part
with that relic of better days. 1t may
have been link to connect her with
wealth and love. Beneath it was treas
ure still more priceless. Carefully
wrapped in paper was a silver dime
more than fifty years old. A weeks
fast would not have sent her to the
bakers with that relic. A child, dead
in its young years, had worn that dime
around its neck as gift or talisman.
There was child's mitten, stained and
worn, but mitten knit by a proud
young mother for her child. 1t could
not speak to tell the dim past, but it had
power. AS the women saw it they COW
cred their faces with their Eaprons and
wept.
There was boys cap and girls
hat, both so old and faded and time
eaten that they had to be tenderly
handled. The women looked from them
to the poor old white face on the bed
and whispered:
"None buta good mother would have
treasured these relics. She was old and
poor, her heart was pure.''
Deeper down, as II to battle the search
OF Time itself, was familiar toy-a
child's dumb watch. Hands were
broken and gone, face scratched and case
battered, but the women handled it as
if touch would SILVER it. There was
a dolls head, boys fish-line, some toy
chairs, yarn ball, and other things to
show that in the long ago that dead
woman had felt the soft kisses of child
rem, heard their "good night" and
thanked God that she was blessed. Each
relic was wept over-each was replaced
with fresh tear stains. They asked the
old blue chest no questions. Its relics
might have been voiceless to man, but
to woman and mother each one had a
tale in words as plain as print. They
shed more tears as they bent again over
the poor old dead, and they said to each
other:
elf she had only told us of this how
we would have loved her and sought to
tighten her Sorrows
But she had gone. She had come
and gone as mystery, and but for the
old blue chest in the corner few would
have cared, and none would have sor-