The Republican journal., 1881-02-03

A Tale of the Revolution

hills caught them up and tossed them
back and forth through the forest, and
they ran in long silvery eddies up the
turnpike, over the meadows and across
the orchards, till they reached the ears
and gladdened the hearts of the quiet lit
tie village of Woodstock. whose farm
houses sat in the valley at the foot of a
long range of hills, like a company OF
pilgrims gathered to worship before the
shrine of a vast temple. 1t was Just at
sunset, and somehow these long, mourn
full minor tones seemed the fitting close of
the days service-the autumn day which
had arisen on the mountains in garments
of sunshine, and marched through the
hours in beauty and rejoicing, a living
''Glory to God ~ the Creator of its good
and perfect gift But it was day traught
with dread and torebOding to thousands
OF homes and hearts IN the land, for the
voice of war was abroad, ard mothers
had strained their brave sons for the last
time to their bosomS, and seen them 90
forth to the battle; and husbands and
fathers had laid aside the pillow and scythc
and shouldered their muskets, and taken
their lives in their hands for the sake of
freedom, and in the name of the God Of
battles.
So deep shadows lay on the quiet coum
try thresholds of almost every home in
New England that autumn day, and al
most every hearthstone was an altar,
where anxious, loving hearts sent mp a
cry to God for their beloved.
Mrs. Palmer, wife of Deacon John Pal
mer, of Woodstock, stood in the wide,
old fashioned kitchen of the dingy yellow
farm house, which she brought her hus-
band on her marriage morning. She was
an ample, motherly, pleasant-taced look
ing woman, whose whole physiognomy
corresponded with the room. Strings of
red peppers, and rows of dried apples
We're testooned along the ceiling, While a
swinging board, fastened to the beam
which divided the hall overhead, was
burdened with herbs and berries, hams,
seeds, and a motley variety OF domestic
wares. Mrs. Palmer's life had Slipped
over its fiftieth summer, and her black
hair was thickly sifted with gray, and
there were lines about her forehead, and
the smile in her faded eyes had some
thing sorrowful about it, for Mrs. Palmer
had walked with grief many times; of ten
fair boys and girls who had been gathered
to her maternal heart, only two remained
to her old age. 1t was small family
under the roof of the old gray homestead
on earth, but a larger one in that golden
upper homestead whose blessed threshold
is never darkened by the shadow Of death.
Mrs. Palmer paused as her ear caught
the faint sweet echoes of the stage horn,
and she deposited half dozen freshly
fried doughnuts in the pan on the table,
murmuring to herself: "Now, for all the
world, if that isn't the mail coming in
Who knows but what there may be some
news from Reuben ?" All. if you had
heard how her voice fingered over the
name, you would have known she was
his mother. II wonder if that boy'll take
any sort of care of himself" continued
the fond mother, dexterously convolying
several strips Of dough, and placing them
in the large iron kettle which hung over
the fire, filled with boiling fat, which in
dignantly snapped and sputtered at their
intrusion. "If there was fray, he'd be
sure to be foremost, for he's arays pok-
ing his head into all sorts O danger, and
never seemed to feel quite so content as
when there was chance o setting his
neck of his shoulders | never could
exactly see where he got his harem scar
um turn, for his father was always a So
ber minded man but it was amazin' how
he'd be Sartin to come out straight.
never had an easy hour for the first ten
years of his life, for fear he'd be brought
home with broken limbs; but after he'd
gone through with what would killed a
dozen ordinary children, | kind O gave
up. | concluded he bore charmed life.
Bless his heart my brave handsome boy
never gave his mother cross word in the
world and | saw the tears a-shinin' un-
der his lashes that morning when he kiss
ed me goodbye, afore he started for the
army, though he talked 50 bold and
CHEEKY about his coming back a capn or
acolonel. Poor fellow! | hope he won't
get the rheumatis' campin' out nights,
and they say they have to put up with
fare such as he wouldn't have face to
offer to smart dog. | wish | could do
up paper O. these doughnuts for the
boy he arays was fond of 'em. Dear Inc
them cakes are burnin' dipping her
large tin ladle into the boiling fat) but it
aTays illustrates me when | get to think
in Of Reuben. I'm reminded sometimes
o what Parson Hunter said to me Mrs.
Palmer, you mustn't make an idol of your
son. He belongs to the Lord | know
it's true as Scriptur', but | can't help
thinkin' the Lordll show mercy on my
weakness, cause he's all I've given up
the others to him; but my life's bound
up in that boy, and if anything should
happen to him, God knows it would
break his poor mothers heart.
And Mrs. Palmer broke down here, and
she sat down on the old oaken chest, and
wiped her eyes on the corner of her apron.
Light warblings of some old psalm tune
fluttered down the staircase, and then
the door opened, and a pleasant looking
girl burst into the room.
Rebecca Palmer was twenty-tw and
the sight of ner bright, young face was
like picture, rejoicing the eyes. She
was not beautiful, but her cheeks were
full of the glow of youth, and the rich
ness OF perfect health.
"Well, child" said Mrs. Palmer, taking
the kettle from the crane, "you Just bus
tie round spry, and get supper. Your
father and the men will come home clear
tuckered out, for they've been felln' trees
all day, and we must get a hearty meal
for EN- You slice up. some ham, too, and
fry dozen eggs, while | fix up some
shOrt-cake."
"Mother, did you hear the stage horn ?''
asked Rebecca, as she laid the cloth she
had spun with her own hands for the sup
per.
eyes; and ! was kind of impressed
there was news from Reuben"
~ wonder what keeps father So" re-
marked Rebeeca.