The Brookhaven ledger. (Brookhaven, Miss.) 1875-1883, 1881-12-08

| Lou uluSt COIuc w ucu, INV Oco
sie,' | say. 4 shall ring for Mary
and she can sit up for the remainde
of the night
But my wife who is atender- heart
ed soul and a horn nurse, will no
desert her post; SO l leave he
watching, and retire to my solitary
chamber.
When we met in the morning
ind that the little woman has spo
ken few words, and seems strong
|er. Come in with me now,' says
my wife, 'and let us try to find out
who she Isl We find her propped
into a reclining posture with pill
lows, and Mary beside her feeding
her.
'How are you now?' asked Jessie
bending over her.
'Belt r, much better, thank you
good lady, she says in voice which
trembles from age as we'll as weak
ness. And very grateful to you fol
your goodness
| hear at once by the accent that
she is English. Are you strong
enough to tell me how yon got lost
On the moor and where you come
from aad where you are going?
continued my wife.
'Ah! ] was going to my lad, my
poor lad. and now I doubt / shall
never see him more says the poor
soul, with a long sigh of weariness.
Where is your lad and how far
have you Gomez
My lad is soldier at Fort George;
and | have come all the way from
Liverpool to see him and give him
his old mothers blessing before he
goes to the indies And then, bro
kenly, with long pauses of weari-
ness, the little old woman tells us
her pitit'ul story.
Her lad, she tells us, is her only
remaining child. She had six, and
this, 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 declining years.
But a "strike' threw him out of
work. and, unable to endure the pri-
vation and misery, in fit of dcs-
peration he listed. His regiment
was quartered at Fort George, and
he wrote regularly to his mother,
his letters getting more cheerful
and hopeful every day; until sud
denly he wrote to say that his regi-
ment was ordered to India, and beg
ging her to send him her blessing,
as he had not enough money to car
ry 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 more before she died. She
begged from a few ladies whose
kindness had kept her from the
workhouse, sufficient money to car
ry her by train to Glasgow; and
from thence she had made her way :,
now on foot, now begging lift in a
passing cart or wagon, to within a
few miles of Fort George, when she
was caught in the snow-storm, and
wandering from the road, would
have perished in the snow, but for
Laddie.
My wife is in tears, and Mary is
sobbing audibly as the little old
woman concludes her touching and
simple story, and l walk to the
window and look out for a moment
before l ask her what her sons
name is. AS l tell her we are but
a few miles from Fort George, and
that l will send over for him, a
smile of extreme content illumines
the withered face.
His name is John Salter,' she
says; 'he is a tall, handsome lad;
they will know him by that
l hasten down stairs and write a
short note to Col. Freeman, whom
know intimately, informing him of
the circumstances, and begging that
he will allow John Salter to come
over at once; and l despatch my
groom in the dog cart that he may
bring him back without loss of time.
AS l return to the house after see
ing him start, l meets DR.. Bruce
leaving the house.
Poor old sonl,' he SAYS; 'her
troubles are nearly oyer; she is
sinking fast. almost doubt wheth-
er she will live till her son comes
How she could have accomplish
ed such a journey at her age, can
not understand, l observed.
Nothing is impossible to moth
err answers Dr.. Bruce; 'but it has
killed her.
l 60 in; but l find I cannot settle
to my usual occupations. My
thoughts are with the aged heroine
who is dying upstairs, and present,
ly l yield to the fascination that
draws me to her presence.
AS DR.. Bruce says, she is sinking
fast. She lies back on the pillows,
her cheeks as ashy gray as her hair.
She clasps my wife's hand in hers,
but her eyes are wide open, and
have an eager expectant look in
them.
AT what time may we expect
them?' whispers my wife to me.
Not before FOUR l answered in
the same tone.
He will be too late. l fear, she
sa. s; she is getting rapidly weaker
But love is stronger than death,
and she will not 60 until her son
comes. All through the winters
day she lies dying, obediently ia
king what nourishment is given her,
but never speaking except to say,
My lad, my lad! God is good; He
will not let me die till he comes
And at lastI hear the dog cart.
] lay my finger on my lip aud tell
Mary to so and bring John Salter
up very quietly. But my caution is
needless; the mother has heard the
sound, and with last effort of her
remaining strength, she raises her
self and stretches ont her arms
My lad, my lade she gasps, as, with
a great sob, he springs forward, and
mother and son are clasped IN each
others arms once more.
For moment they remained SO.
Then the little woman sinks back
on my wife's shoulder, and her spir-
it is looking down from heaven on