Green-Mountain freeman. [volume] (Montpelier, Vt.) 1844-1884, 1881-06-29
VOL. XXXVIII.


Your fathers faith is your mothers. Mary.
and she tells you it has been her only
strength and comfort and delight. You
will come to know it, some time, Yourself
and | believe my boy, if he lives, will
come TO know it too.
Seeing her mothers agitation, the CIR
said no more, but gently led her on to talk
of her brother who had left home at the
age of sixteen, and had never been heard
from since. At the time of his departure
Mary, now on the verge of womanhood,
was four years old, and all through her
childhood and youth her Imagination had
played around her faint memories of him,
catching eagerly at whatever her mother
could tell. Her father never spoke of him
except to upbraid his deserion of his
parents and his duty. Whatever had been
his offense, the deacon had not forgiven
him. but Mary knew how her mother g
heart yearned and watched and waited
for her boy, and she understood what
secret spring of sorrow was draining her
mothers strength. He had left them on
the last night of the old year; and rs the
years, one after another crept onward
Mary always felt the feverish, faint hope
in her mothers heart, and this night of all
nights she did not lilo to loavn har nlona
But as the evening wore on, and the
mother and daughter sat in the freight.
talking over all the stories of the boy s
young life, Mrs. Frost grew restless. She
arose and went to the window, and look
ing up and down the white road over
which bent the boughs of naked trees, and
away across the snowy fields, she seemed
to ask the earth, which somewhere held
his grave or his footstep, and the stars
that must have seen his wanderngs, for
tidings of her boy. As she stood there the
clock in the tower struck IL.
There's only one hour more in this year
Mary, she said, turning to her daughter,
who sat gazing into the fading fire, only
one houl in this year. He will not come
tonight, and ever since he went away |
have watched the old year out, wa ting for
him. He went away while we were at the
midnight meeting. Your father insisted
upon his going with us, but there had
been hard words between them that
day, and for the first time he openly re-
beled. He would not go; and when |
knew it, | wanted to stay with him, but
feared it looked like sanctioning his disc
bedience. So went and all through the
dying hours of the year my heart was with
my child. God only knows how the mo-
ments dragged. how discordant seemed
the praises, how impossible to freight the
prayers with my neartache. At last,
against your fathers wishes, crept out
and came home. You were safely asleep
in your little crib, and had said to Harry,
as went out, Take good care of your
little sister.
A strange fear had taken possession of
angry. he had threatened to go, and his
father answered, "You will be glad to
come back to me for your bread!' and
could not forget that the thought of going
had once crossed his mind. This recollec
tion and fear made me bid him watch
over you. He was vely fond of you, and
| tried as | walked home, to believe that
he would not leave you alone. But went
from room to room in the lower part of
the house, passed with trembling steps
up to his chamber. He was not there.
searched for some message, some word or
line to say that he loved his mother, and |
found at last, what has been Il comfort all
these years, a little note pinned to your
niohtdress in the little crib. | have it
now. kept it near me till ! wore it out.
SO feared / could not read the words "
am going, mother, | know not where, nor
for how long, but shall not come back to
father for my bread! But l love you,
mother, and if live l will come back to
you!" have waited for him ever since
Mary. and since that day | have never
been once to the midnight service.
Once there came to us the story of a
wreck of q vessel bound from New York
for South America, ana among the names
of the lost was one like that of my boy
But do not believe him dead | waiI
and watch for him still, and your father
knows it, and | think it irritates and dis.
turbs him. for every wear he urges me to
90. | have felt that [ could never do it.
but somehow tonight | feel rs though
would like 10 try it again. Let us walk
down together, child, and have this las
hour of the wear with the eople of God.
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