St. Johnsbury Caledonian. [volume] (St. Johnsbury, Vt.) 1867-1919, 1881-12-16


prepare my wife for what is coming.
She runs out into the hall to meet me.
"Well 2" she asks, eagerly.
"We have found poor old woman" !"
| say, "but we do not know whether
she is alive or dead"
Ny wife throws her arms around me
and gives me great hug.
''YOu will find dry things and jug
of hot tOddy in your dressing-rOOm,
dear" she says, and this is the revenge
she takes on me for my scepticism.
The poor old woman is carried up
stairs and placed in a warm bath un-
der my wife's direction, and before the
doctor arrives she has shown some
faint symptoms of life; so my wife
sends me word. DR.. Bruce shakes his
head when he sees her. ''POOr old
soul, he says, "hOw came she out on
such fearful night ? l doubt she has
received a shock which, at her age,
she will not easily get over"
They manage, however, to force a
few spOOnfuls of hot brandy down her
throat and presently a faint color
tiickers on her cheek, and the poor old
eyelids begin to tremble. My wife
raises her head and makes her swallow
some cordial which DR.. Bruce has
brought with him, and lays her back
among the soft, warm pillows.
81 think she will rally nOw," says
DR.. Bruce, as her breathing becomes
more regular and audible. "Nourish-
ment and warmth will do the rest, but
she has received a shock from which |
fear she will never recover" And so
saying he takes his leave.
By and by / go up to the room, and
find my wife watching alone by the
aged sufferer. She looks at me with
she says, 81 am afraid she will not
rally from the cold and exposure"
"WhO can she he ?" | repeat, won
deringly. "She does not belong to
any of the villages hereabnuts, or we
should know her face, and | cannot
imagine what could bring stranger
to the moor on such night"
AS speak, change passes over her
face the eyes unclOse and she looks
inquiringly about her. She tries to
speak, but is evidently too weak. My
wife raises her and gives her spoon
full of nOurishment, while she says,
soOthingly, "Don't try to speak. You
are among friends, and when you are
better you shall tell me all about your
self Lie still now and try to sleep"
The gray head drops back wearily
on the pillow, and soon we have the
satisfaction of hearing, by the regular
respiration, that our patient is asleep.
'YOu must come to bed now, Jessie"
| say. ~ shall ring for Mary and she
can sit up for the remainder of the
night"
But my wife, who is tenderheart
ed soul and a born nurse, will not de-
sert her post so | leave her and re-
tire to my solitary chamber.
When we meet in the morning find
that the little woman has spoken a few
words, and seems stronger. "COme in
with me now," says my wife, ''and let
us try to find out who she is" We
find her propped into reclining post
ure with pillows, and Mary beside her
feeding her.
''How are you now ?" asked Jessie,
bending over her.
''Better, much better, thank you,
good lady" she says in voice which
trembles from age as well as weakness !;
"and very grateful to you for your
goodness"
hear at once, by the accent, that
she is English. care You strong
enough to tell me how you got lost on
the moor, and where you came from,
and where you are going ?" continued
my wife.
"Ah was going to my lad, my
poor lad, and now doubt | shall never
see him more ~ says the poor soul,
with long sigh of weariness.
"Where is your lad, and how far
have you come ?"
"My lad is a soldier at Fort George,
and | have come all the way from Liv-
erpool to see him and give him his old
mothers blessing before he goes to the
Indies" And then, brokenly, with
long pauses of WEAKNESS, the little old
woman tells us her pitiful story.
Her lad, she tells us, is her only re-
naming child. She had six, and this,
the youngest, is the only one who did
not die of want during the Lancashire
cotton famine. He grew up a fine,
| likely boy, the comfort and pride of
his mothers heart, and the stay of her
declining years. But "strike" threw
him out of work, and unable to endure
the privatiOn and misery, in a fit OF
desperation and misery he "enlisted.'
His regiment was quartered at Fort
George, and he wrote regularly to his
mother, his letters getting more cheer
full and hopeful every day, until sud
denly he wrote to say that his regi-
ment was ordered to India, and beg
ging her to send him her blessing, as
he had not enough money to carry hin
to Liverpool to see her. The aged
mother, widowed and childless, save
for this one remaining boy, felt thai
she must look on his face once more
before she died. She begged from 6
few ladies, whose kindness had KEEP
her from the workhOuse, sufficient
money to carry her by train to Glas
gov, and thence she made her way
now on foot, now begging lift in {
passing cart or wagon, to within few
miles from Fort George, when she wal
caught in the snow storm, and, wan
dering from the road, would have per
ished in the snow but for Laddie.
My wife is in tears and Mary is sob
bing audibly as the little old woman
concludes her touching and simple stO
J ry, and | walk to the window and lool
out for a moment before | ask her wha
her sons name is. AS | tell her W,
are but few miles from Fort George
and that | will send over for him,
smile of extreme content illumines tn
withered face.
: "His name is John Salter," she says
che is tall, handsome lad; they vii
know him by that"
: | hasten down stairs and write
, short note to Col. Freeman, whom
know intimately, informing him of tn
circumstances and begging that he vii