St. Tammany farmer. [volume] (Covington, La.) 1874-current, 1881-03-19
THE UNEXPECTED FRIEND.
A TRUE STORY.

u hIuSe oS, III CulIo oaio ths
poor widow, wiping away the tears
which slowly trickled dawn hel
wasted cheeks. There is no other
resource. I am too sick to work
and you can not surely see me and
your little brother starve. Try and
beg few shillinss, and by the time
that is gone, | may be better. Go,
Henry, my dear-I grieve to send
you on such an errand, bat it must
be done"
The boy. q noble looking little
fellow of about ten years, started
up. and throwing his arms around
his mothers neck, left the house
without word He did not hear
the groan of anguish that was ut
tered by his parent, as the door
closed behind him; and it was well
that he did not, for his little heart
was ready to break without it. 1t
was by-street in Philadelphia. and
as he walked the street to and fro
on the sidewalk, he looked first at
one person and then another, as
they passed him, but no one seemed
to look kindly on him; and the
longer he waited the faster his cour-
age dwindled away, and the more
difficult it was to muster courage
to beg. The tears were running
fast down his cheeks, but no one
noticed them, or if they did nobody
seemed to care: for although clean,
Henry looked poor and miserable,
and it is common for the poor and
miserable to cry.
Everybody seemed in a hurry, and
the poor boy seemed quite in de-
spair, when at last he spied ger
tleman who seemed to be very
leisurely taking morning walk.
He was dressed in black, wore a
three cornered hat, and had q face
that was mild ard benignant as an
angel. Somehow, when Henry
looked at him he felt his fears vanish
at once. and instantly approached
him. His tears had been flowing
SO long that his eyes were quite red
and swollen, and his voice trembled,
but that was with weakness, for he
had not eaten for twenty-four hours.
As Henry. with low faltering
voice, begged for charity, the gen
tleman stopped and his kind heart
melted with compassion as he look
ed upon the fair countenance of the
poor young boy, and saw the deep
flush that spread over his face, and
listened to the modest, humble
tones which accompanied his petit
ton.
"You do not look like boy that
has been accustomed to beg his
Bread" said he. kindly laying his
hand on the boys shoulder-"what
has driven you to this s.ep?"
Indeed" answered Henry, his
tears beginning to flow afresh, SIN
deed, I was not born i'll this condi-
ton. But the misfortunes of my
father and the sickness of my
mother have driven me to the ne
cessity now."
"Who is your father? ?" inquired
the gentleman, with still more in
terest.
"My father was rich merchant
of this city, but he became bonds
man for a friend who SOON after
failed, and he was entirely ruined.
He could not live after this loss.
aud in one month died of grief, and
his death was more terrible than
any trouble. Ny mother, my little
brother and myself soon sunk into
the lowest depths of poverty. My
mother has, until now, managed to
support herself and my little brother
by her labor, and I have earned
what I could by shoveling snow,
and other work tnat 7 could find to
do But night before last mother
was taken very sick, and she has
since become So much worse"-here
the tears poured faster than ever
81 do fear she will die. I can not
think of any way in the world to
help her. I have not had any work
to do for several weeks. I have not
had the courage to go to any of my
mothers old acquaintanees, and tell
them that she had come to need
and charity. / thought you looked
like stranger, sir, and something
in your face overcame my shame
and gave me courage to speak to
yon. Oh! sir. do pity my poor
mother!"
Tho taarS and thp cimplp MOVING