The Middlebury register. [volume] (Middlebury, Vt.) 1850-1882, 1881-09-30
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words, nnd seems stronger. "Cono in
with mo now" says my wife. "and LET
us try to find out who she is" We find
nor propped into reclining posture
with. pilloss, and Mary beside her,
feeding her.
How nro you now," asks Jessie,
bending over her.
" Better, much better, thank you,
good lady" she says, in voice which
trombles from age as we'll as weakness;
"and very grateful to you for your good
ness"
hear at once, by the accent, that she
is English. care you strong enough
to tell me how you got lost on the moor,
ana where you came from, and where
You are going !" continued my wife.
"Ah | was going to my lad, my poor
lad, and now l doubt whether I shall
ever see him more p says the poor soul.
with long sigh of weariness.
"Where is yeur lad, and how far have
you Gomez"
My Lad is soldier at Fort George.
end ] have come all the way from Liver.
pool to see lin, and give him his old
mothers blessing before he goes to the
in"iea." And then, brokenly, with long
pauses Of weariness, the little old
woman tells lis 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 duling the Lancashire
cotton famine. He grew up n fine.
likely boy, tho comfort and pride of his
mothers heart, and the stay of her de-
elining years. But "strike" threw
him out of work, and unable to endure
the pliyation and misery, in q fit of des-
peratlon he "listcd." His regiment
was quartered at Fort George, and ho
wrote regularly TO his mother, his let
ters getting more cheerful and hopeful
every day, until suddenly he wrote to
say that his regiment was ordered to
India, and begging her to send him her
blessing, as he had not enough money
to carry him TO Liverpool to see her.
The aged mother, widowed and child
less, save for this opo remaining how.
felt that she must look on his face once
moro before she died. She begged from
. few ladies, whose Kindness had kent
her from tho workhouse, sufficient
money to carry her by train to Glasgow.
and from thence she had made her way.
now On foot, now begging a lift in a
passing cart or wagon, to within few
mlies o. Fort George, when she was
."u9nt IN the snow piil, and, wander
lng from the road, would have persisted
In the snow but FOR Laddie.
lily wilo is in fears and Mary ia sob.
Oing audibiy ss the little old woman
'oncindes hertouchine and simple story.
md / walk to tho window and look out
lor q moment before l. ask her what her
sons name is AS tell her we are but
few miles from Fort George, and that
VIII send over for him, smile of ex-
rome content illumines the withercd
acc.
" His name is John Salter," she saws.
ilo is a tall, handsome lad. They
viii know him by that"
] hasten Downstairs and write n
hort note to Colonel Freeman, whom I |
nov intimately, informing him of the
iroUms'ances and begging that he will |
Low John Sater to come over at once,
nd / dispatch my groom in the dog. |
AT thot he may bring him back with
As | return to the house after seeing |
I'm start, l meet DR. Bruce leaving the |
ouse
" Poor old soul" he says, cher trou-
les arc nearly over; she is sinking fast.
almost doubt whether she will live till |
ier son comes"
How she could have accomplished
uch q journey at her age, I cannot
Understand" observe.
Nothing is impossible to mother"
nswers DR.. Bruce; "but it has killed
er."
go in, but find cannot settle to
ay usual occupations. My thoughts
re with the aged heroine who is dying
pstairs, and presently | yield to the
that draws me back to her
As DR.. Bruce says, she is sinking
lst. She lies back on the pillows, her
heeks as ashy gray as her hair. She
Iasps my wife's hand in hers, but her
yes are wide open, and hayo an eager,
zpectant look in them.
AT what time may We expect them?
'hispers my wife to NEE
Not before four" / answer, in the
lme tone.
" He will be too late, fear" she says,
she is getting rapidly weaker"
But leve is stronger than death, and
le will not go until her son comes. All
trough the winters day she lies dying,
oediently taking what nourishment is
wen her, but never speaking except to
y. "My lad, my lad God is good; He
Ill not let me die till he comes"
And at last hear the dog-cart.
y my finger on my lip and tell Mary to
D and bring John Salter up very
lietly. But my caution is needless;
10 mother has heard the sound, and
it'll the last effort of her remaining
rength she raises herself and stretches
1t her arms. "MY lad my lad !" she
,sps, rs with q great sob lie springs
lNard, and mother and son are clasped
each others arms once more. :
For a moment they remain SO. Then
c little woman sinks back on my
fe's shoulder, and her spirit is look
6 down from heaven on the lad she
we'd so dearly on earth.
She lies in our little churchyard un-
r a spreading yew tree, and on the
one which marks her resting place are
scrihed the words: " Faithful unto
,ath" Our Laddie has gained far
read renown Tor his good works, and
cit finishing tins short record Of
10 Of which he is tho hero he lies at
y feeI, cur ever watchful, faithful
'mpanion and friend. Chambers Jour
Il,
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