The Pulaski citizen. [volume] (Pulaski, Tenn.) 1866-current, 1882-08-31
Too True.

n'X 10 OLnerS. one naQ OuGllVeQ
SS her usefulness, perhaps, but
SHsS she had by no means out-lived
self-respect, or her desire to be a
factor, however 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 to the far southwest, and
the girls-they were women now
wondered how they were to crowd
any more than they were crowding,
in order to spare room for mother,
who had just been burned out OF
house and home, and had come first
to Julia and to Jessie to see if she
could find a 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 a 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 earthly treasures flame
up and flare and fade into ashes be-
fore her eyes, and she stood alone
and helpless on that fatal night.
But she had consoled her bereaved
heart, saying: AFTER all, the care
of these things, my house, and gar
den, and cow, and chickens, pre-
vented me from doing much for the
girls; now there is an end. 1 will
sell the cow and fowls and replace
my lost clothing and go to Jessie
and Julia. 1 can live by turns with
them, and help them in many ways"
Poor heart! She had been a
good mother, and had done a good
part by her children. The thought
that she could be anything else than
a help to those whom she had al
ways helped, ah, with what loving
unselfish 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 houre for those rightfully be
longing to it, grandma 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 before.
'Did you save nothing, mother?"
asked Jessie. "And how much in
surance had you? To think, we
never heard a word of it till ten
minutes ago. julie sent up to say
she saw you coming over the hill,
and as they had no room for you I'd
have to manage somehow. l could
not make out what it meant, till the
young one said you'd been burned
out. How soon do you suppose the
insurance will rebuild 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:
''The insurance expired and 1
neglected to renew it. Isaved moth
ing but my clothes and my tin box
with my papers, and watch, and a
few trinkets in it. There were five
gold dollars in the box. 1t is all
the money 1 have now. The lot, the
COW and the chickens are all that is
left to me-"
"Why, mother" interrupted the
vexedly, show could you
be SO neglectful? You must be in
your second childhood. All your
nice bedding, and furniture, and the
china! Dear me! There must
have been at least a thousand dol
lars worth of property destroyed" ="
"And 1 am homeless and desti
tute indeed" said her mother quiet
ly, in very sad voice.
"And all through your own culp-
able carelessness, l declare" said
Jessie.
'And what in the world are you
going to do, l don't know, I'm sure.
We're crowded enough, mercy knows.
And 1 was just thinking of sending
little Jim up to you for 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 me! And to think of there
being no insurance. You might as
well have thrown your home away,
and your things, and done with it"
Not word of sympathy or of en-
couragement from Julia. Re
proaches 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 daught-
ers for whom she had toiled, and
striven, and planned? Was it not
all a hideous dream?
Her blood seemed turning to ice
in her veins. She rose>with rigid
limbs and turned to the door.
81 will walk over to tell your
Uncle Dick she said. 81 may not
return to-day. Andrew need not
give up his cot to grandma, at least
not tonight. Goodbye, children"
And she closed the door slowly and
with tembling hands, as she went
out from her daughters house, to
return no more.
There is no welcome for me in
my children's homes" she said
their bread would choke me. And,
oh, | love them sor'
And as she walked along, gray,
ashen shadows settled upon her face,
and her look was as one whose death
stroke has been felt.
Another mother might have acted
differently-even felt differently
Mothers have suffered disappolnt-
ment in their children and have
borne the pain in one way oil
another, and yelled it from all eyes;
even with loving, forgiving affection
endeavoring to hide it from theii
own. Alas
Perhaps they were less proud
spirited than this mother. Perhaps