Sacramento daily record-union. [volume] (Sacramento [Calif.]) 1875-1891, 1881-05-07

/ triumphant glance at Ohm ; the mlstres:
will be up and waiting for US. She KEN
Laddie dinna bring us out in the shaw fol
naething.
"Pll never saw naught about believing
a dog again." says John, gracefully ssrik,
ing his colors. lyon were right, and
was wrong; but to think there should be
such sense in an animal passes me +"
As we reach the avenue gate l dispatch
one of the men for the doctor, who fortu.
nately lives within stones throw of us,
and hurry on myself to prepare my wife
| for what is coming. She runs out into the
hall to meet me.
"Well }" she asks eagerly.
eve have found poor woman" | say
"but do not know whether she is alive
OF dead -
My wife throws her arms around me and
gives me great hug.
" You will find dry things and Jug OF
hot toddy in our dressing-room, dear, T" she
says, and this is the revenge she takes on
me for my skepticism. The poor old woman
is carried up stairs and placed in a warm
bath under my wife's direction, and before
the doctor arrives she has shown some faint
symptoms of life; so my wife sends me
word. DIR. Bruce shakes his head when he
sees her. "Poor old soul, he says, chow
came she out on such fearful night? /
doubt she has received shock which, at
her age. she will not easily get over"
They manage, however to force few
spoonfuls of hot brandy and water down
her throat, and presently faint color flick
ers 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.
81 think she will rally now, says DR..
Bruce, "as her breathing becomes more
regular and audible. Nourishment and
warmth will do the rest; but she has re-
ceived shock from which fear she will
never recover" And SO saying he takes
his leave.
By and by go up to the room and find
my wife watching alone by the aged suffer
er, She looks up at me with tears III her
eyes, Poor old SOUL" she says, g. am
afraid she will not rally from the cold and
exposure"
l go round to the other side of the bed
and look down upon her. The aged face
looks wan and pinched, and the scanty
gray locks which lie on the pillow are still
wet from the snow She is a very little
woman, as far as can Judge of her in her
must have reached her allotted three-score
years and ten.
Who can she be % / repeat, wonder.
ingly. "She does not belong to any of
the villages hereabouts, or we should know
her face; and l cannot imagine what could
bring stranger to the moor on such
night.
As / speak, q change passes over her
face the eyes unclose and she looks in
quiringly about her. She tries to speak,
but is evidently too weak. My wife
raises her and gives her spoonful of nour-
ishment, while she says, soothingly,
" Don't try to speak. You are among
friends, and when you are letter you shall
tell me all about yourself, Lie still now
and try to sleep"
The gray head drops back YEARLY on
the pillow, and soon we have the satisfac-
ton of hearing, by the regular respiration,
that our patient is aleep.
You must come to bed now, jessie" /
say. 81 shall ring for Mary, and she can
sit up for the remainder of the night"
But my Hile, who is tender. hearted
soul and born nurse, will not desert her
post go | leave her watching, and retire
to my solitary chamber.
When we meet in the morning / find 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
posture with pillows, and Mary
beside her feeding her.
How are you now? ?" asks Jessie, bend.
over her.
Better, much better, thank you, good
lady" she says, in voice which trembles
with age as well as weakness. And very
grateful to you for your kindness. "
l hear at once by the accent that she is |
English. Are you strong enough to tell |
me how you got lost on the moor, and
where you came from, and where you are |
yoing?' continued my wife.
All | was going to my lad, my poor |
ad, and now doubt shall ever see him |
MORE" said 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 Liverpool to
see him and give him his poor mothers
blessing before he goes to the Indies" And |
then, brokenly, with long pauses of weari-
ness, the little old woman tells US her pitt
full story.
Her lad, she tells US, is her only remain
ing child. She had six, and this, the
is the only one who did not die
of want during the Lancashire cotton
famine. He grew up fine, likely boy,
the comfort and pride of his mothers |
heart and the stay of her declining years.
But " strike" threw him out Of work,
and unable to endure the priyation and |
misery, in fit of desperation 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 suddenly he wrote to say
that his regiment was ordered to India,
and begging her to send him her blessing,
as he had not enough money to carry him
to Liverpool to see her. The aged mother,
widowed and childless, save for this
one remaining boy, felt that she must
look on his face once more be.
fore she died. She begged from few ladies,
whose kindness had kept her from the
work house, sufficient money to carry her
by train to Glasgow and from thence she
had made her way, now on foot, now beg
ging lift in a passing cart or wagon, to
within few miles of Fort George, when
she was caught in the snow-storm, and
wandering from the road would have per-
ished in the snow but for Laddie.
My wife is in tears, and Mary is sobhiAg
audibly as the little old woman concludes
her touching and simple story, and walk
TO the window and look out for moment
before ask her what her sons name is.
AS tell her We are but few miles from