The Wellington enterprise. [volume] (Wellington, Ohio) 1867-188?, 1881-06-09
A STRANGE STORY.

A STRANGE STORY.
She could not become "a burden to
Others She had outlived her usefulness,
perhaps, but she had by no means out
lived her self-respect, or her desire to
the worlds wide field of product.
So when her, boys-there had been
two. and they had become men and
had taken to themselves wives emigrat-
ed 10 the far Southwest and the girls
there were women now-wondered
how they were to crowd any more than
they were crowding, in order to spare q
room for mother, who had just been
burned out of house and home, and had
come, first to Julia and then to Jessie,
to see If she could find home with
either-when these things came to
pass, the old lady, who had never be-
fore realized how old she was, began to
feel aged, and weary, and very lonely,
yet as never before determined to
make for herself place in, the world.
where by her own efforts she could live
and maintain herself. ,..--,.
1t had grieved her to see her home.
with all its homely treasures, flame up
and fare and fade into ashes before
her eyes. as she stood alone and help
less on that fatal night But she had
consoled her bereaved heart, saying.
: :. After all, the care of these things,
my house, and garden, and cow. and
chickens, prevented me from doing
much for the girls; now there is an
end. Twill sell the cow and fowls, and
replace my lost clothing, and go to
Jessie and Julia. can live by turns
with them. and help them on in many
ways" r1[ 2stA 81 = ~
Poor heart. She had been a good
mother, and had done q good part by
her children. The thought that she
could be anything else than a help to
those whom she had always helped,
ah, with what loving, unselfish helpful
ness, never occurred to her. Yet as she
stood, homeless and destitute, in her
daughters house that bright, October
morning. and heard Julia's husband
remark that there wasn't enough room
in the house for those rightfully be-
longing in it, grandma had better go
up to Jessie's" the poor mother felt q
strange, unnatural tremor shake her
frame The road between Julia's and
Jessie's seemed twice as long as ever
before.
"Did you save nothing, motheran
Jessie asked. sAnd how much in
surance had youP To think, we never
heard a word of it till ten minutes ago.
julie sent up to say she saw you coming
over the hin, and as they had no room
for you I'd have to manage somehow.
couldn't make out what it meant, till
the young one said you'd been burned
out. How soon do you suppose the in
surance will rebuild for you? We can
crowd up for few weeks by letting
Andrew give you his cot. He can sleep
in the dining-room. OF course you'll
have to be in the room with little Jim
and Isabella. Did you save all your
things?" @ -
How weak she grew as she sat and
listened to her daughters half-peevish
questions She scarcely knew her own
voice as she answered.:
1.-The insurance expired last week.
neglected to renew it. The fire
broke out at four this morning, and
everything was gone before the neigh
bors heard my cries. / saved nothing
but my clothes and my tin-box with my
papers, and watch, and few trinkets in
it. There were five gold dollars in the
box. 1t is all the money l have now.
The lot, the COW, and the chickens are
all that IS left to me.
"Why mother" interrupted the
daughter vexedly, show could you be
so neglectfulP You must be in your SEQ.
ond childhood. All your nice bedding,
and furniture, and the chinai Dear me
There must have been at least thou.
sand dollars worth of property de.
stroyed."
"And / am homeless and destitute
indeed" said her mother quietly, in
very sad voice
"And all through your own culpable
carelessness, i declare" said Jessie.
"And what in the world you are go
ing to do, don't know. I'm sure.
We're crowded enough, mercy knows.
And was Just thinking of sending
little Jim up to you for a month. The
air is so much purer over where
you lived, the other side of the hill,
and he is so cross and troublesome.
Dear mel And to think OF there being
no insurance. You might as well have
thrown your home away, and Your
things, and done with il"
Not a word of sympathy or of en-.
couragement from Julia. Reproaches
from Jessie.
We're these the babies whom she had
borne, and nursed, and fondled, and
served, so willingly, so patiently, SC
gladly? Were these the daughters fol
whom she had toiled. and striven, and
plannedP Was it not all hideous dream.
Her blood seemed turning 10 ice in
her veins. She rose with rigid limb:
and turned to the door.
II will walk over to tell your Uncle
Dick" she said. II may not return
to day. Andrew need not give up his
cot to grandma, at least not tonight.
Good by, children" And she closed
the door slowly and with trembling
hand, as she went out from her daugh'
ter's house. to return no more.
There is no welcome for me in my
children's homes" she said; ''theii
bread would choke me. And oh, Hove
them So"
And as she walked along. gray, asher
shadows settled upon her fa @, and hel
look was as of one whose death-stroks
has been felt
Another mother might have acted
differently-even felt differently.
Mothers have suffered disapr ointment
in their children, and have borne the
pain in one way or another, and veileC
Il from all eyes; even with loving, tor
giving affection endeavoring to hide il
even from their own. Alas!
Perhaps they were less proud-spirit-
ed than this mother. Perhaps they
were less sensitive. Perhaps they had
less self respect.
When once these mothers realize tha
the children for whom they have lived
and would gladly die. value them more
for what they have than for what they
are, battle against the unwelcome con