The Indianapolis leader., 1881-08-20
A STRANGE STORY.


bur she had by no means outlived her self
respect, or her desire to be factor, how
ever unimportant, in 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 -emigrated 10 the far
Southwest and the girls-they were women
now-wondered how they were to crowd
any more than they we're crowding, in order
to spare a 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 before 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 coul1 live and main
tain herself.
1t had grieved her to see her home, with
all its homely treasures, flame up and flare
and fade into ashes before her eyes, as she
stood alone and helpless en- 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 chick
ems, prevented me from doing much for the
girls; now there is an end. | will sell the
Cow anu lOWIs anu lO>I ClOIHluS,
and go to Jessie and Julia l can live by
turns with them, and help them on in many
ways"
Poor heart. She had been good mother.
and had done good part by her children.
The thought that she could be anything
else than u help to those whom she had al
WAYS helped, ah, with what loving, unset
fish helpfulness, 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 belonging in it, ''grand-
ma had better go up to JessIe's, the poor
mother felt a 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, motner?" jessie
asked. ''And how much insurance had vou2
To think, we never heard a word of it till
ten minutes sgo. julie sent up to say she
saw you coming over the hill, and as they
mad 10 room FOR you I'd have to manage
somehow. j 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 you? We can crowd up
for tew weeks by letting Anurew 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 listen
ed to her daughters half-peevish questions
She scarcely knew her own voice as she
answered:
"The Insurance expired last week. / neg
lected TO renew it. The fire broke out at
this morning, and everything was gone
before the neighbors 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 ali the money have now.
The lot, the COW, and the chickens are ali
that is left to me.'
"Why, mother" interrupted the daughter
vexedly, ..how could you be so neglectful2
You must be in your second childhood. All
your nice bedding. and furniture, and the
chinal Dear mel There must have been at
least a thousand dollars worth of property
destroyed"
sAnd / am homeless and destitute in
decd" said her mother quietly, in very sad
voice. "And all through your own culpable
carelessness, declare" said Jessie.
"And what in the world you are going 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 tor
a month. The air Is so much purer over
where you lived, the other side of the bill,
and he is so cross and troublesome. Dear
mel And to think of there being no insur-
ance. You might as well have thrown your
home away, and your things, and done with
it."
Not word of sympathy or of encourage
ment from Julia. Reproaches from Jessie.
Were these the babies whom she had
borne. and nursed, and fondled, and served,
so willingly, so patiently, so gladly? Were
these the daughters tor whom she had
ooiled, and striven, and planned? Was it
not all hideous dream?
Her blood seemed turning to ice in her
veins. She rose with rigid limbs and turned
to the door.
al will walk over to tell your Uncle
Dick" she said. 81 may not return to-day.
Andrew need not give up his cot to grand
ma, at least not tonight. Goodbye, chill
dren.' And she closed the door slowly and
with trembling hand, as she went out from
her daughters house, to return no more.
There is no welcome for me in my chill
dren's homes" she said; "their bread would
choke me. And, oh, | love them soP
And as she walked along, gray, ashen
shadows settled upon ner lace, anu ucr ioOh
was as of one whose death stroke has been
felt.
Another mother might have acted differ
ently--even felt differently. Mothers have
suffered disappointment in their children
and have borne the pain in one way or
another, and veiled it from all eyes; even
with loving forgiving affection, endeavor-
ing to hide it from their own. Alas
Perhaps they were less proud-spirited
than this mother. Perhaps they were less
sensitive. Perhaps they had less seli-re-
spect.
When once these mothers realized that
the children for whom they had lived, and
would gladly die, value them more for what
they have than for what they are, battle
against the unwelcome conviction as they
may, the realization works Its sorrowful
change in their lives. Some may succeed
in making the hideous specter down, and
NAV persuade themselves, indeed. that twas
a phantom only. The difference between
these and this mother was, that she accepted
the truth. and neither tried to deceive her
self or others.
As she neared the home of her brother
in-law her resolve was taken. When she
entered his house she was outwardly calm