The Sentinel. [volume] (Trenton, N.J.) 1880-1882, 1881-09-03


she will not easily get over"
! They manage, however. to force a
few spoonfuls of hot brandy and water
down her throat; and presently faint
color fickers on her cheek, and the
poor old eyelids begin to tremble. My
wife raises her head and makes her
swallow some cordial which DIR. Bruce
has brought with him, and lays her
back among the soft, warm pillows.
CT think she will rally now," says
DIR. Bruce, as her breathing becomes
more regular and audible. "Nourish-
ment and warmth will do the rest, but
she has received shock from which, I
fear, she will never recover" And so
saying, he takes leave.
By-and-bye I go up to the room, and
find my wife watching alone by the
aged sufferer. She looks at me with
tears in her eyes. "Poor old soul, +"
she says, 81 am afraid she will not rally
from the cold and exposure"
I go round to the other side of the
bed and look down upon her. The aged
face looks wan and pinched, and the
scantv gray locks which lie on the pill
low are still wet from the snow. She
is very little woman, as far as I can
judge Of her in her recumbent position,
and I should think had reached her al
lotted threescore years and ten.
"Who can she be?' repeat, won
deringly. "She does not belong to
any of the villages hereabouts, or we
should know her face, and l cannot
imagine what could bring a 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. Ny
wife raises her and gives her spoonful
of nourishment, while she says, sooth-
ingly: "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 YEARLY on
the pillow, and soon We have the salts
faction of hearing, by the regular res
piration, that our patient is asleep.
"You must come to bed now, Jes-
sie," I say. 81 shall ring for Mary,
and she can sit up the remainder Of
the night"
But my wife, who is tender-hearted
soul and born nurse, will not desert
her post, so I leave her watching and
retire to my solitary chamber.
When we meet in the morning find
that the little woman has spoken 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 posture
with pillows, and Mary beside her,
feeding her.
Glow are you now,' asks 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 good
ness"
hear at once, by the accent, that she
is English. care you strong enough
10 tell me how you got lost on the moor,
and where you came from, and where
you are going p continued my wife.
"Ah was going to my lad, my poor
lad, and now l doubt whether l shall
ever see him more /" says the poor soul,
with long sigh of WEAKNESS.
"Where is your lad, and how far have
you Gomez"
"My lad is soldier at Fort George,
and have come all the way from Liver
!. pool 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
naming child. She had six, and -,
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 de-
J clining years. But "strike" threw
, him out of work, and unable to endure
the privation and misery, in fit of des
peration he "'listed." His regiment
was quartered at Fort George, and ht
, wrote regularly to his mother, his let
tiers getting more cheerful and hopeful
every day, until suddenly he wrote tc
say that his regiment was ordered tx
India, and begging her to send him hel
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 one remaining boy
felt that she must look on his face once
| moro before she died. She begged from
d few ladies, whose kindness had KEEP
her from the workhouse, suficien
money to carry her by train to Glasgow
and from thence she had made her way
} now on foot, now begging lift in
passing cart or wagon, to within few
miles Of Fort George, when she wa
caught in the snow-storm. and, wander
, ing from the road, would have persisted
J 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 story
and I walk to the window and look on
, for moment before ask her what he
+ sons name is AS I tell her we are bu
few miles from Fort George, and tina
3 I will send over for him, smile of ex
IRENE content illumines the withere,
r face.
S "His name is John Salter," she says
: "He is tall, handsome lad. The,
: will know him by that"
\ T hasten downstairs and write