, 1882-02-17

soul and born nurse, Will not desert
her post; so l leave her watching, and
retire to my solitary chamber,
When we meet in the morning i find
that 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 a reclin'
ing posture with pillows, and Mary be-
side her, feeding her.
"How are you now?" asks Jessie,
bending over her.
Better, much better; thank you good
lady" she says in voice which trem-
bles from age as we'll as weakness
And very grateful to you for your
goodness"
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
going?" continued my wife.
"Ah! 1 was going to my lad, my poor
lad, and now doubt l shall never see
him more," says 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 Liver.
pool to see him, and give him his old
mothers blessing before he goes to the
Indies" And then, brokenly, with a
long pause OF wearness, the old woman
tells her pitiful story.
Her lad, she tells us, is her only re-
naming 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 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 pri va
ton and misery, in fit of desperation
ne listed" His regiment wat 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 regi'
ment was ordered to India, and begging
her to seLd him her blessing, as he had
not enough money to carry him to Liver
pool to see her. The aged mother, Wild
owed and childless, save for this one re-
naming boy, felt that she must look on
his face once more before she died. She
begged from few ladies, whose kind
ness had kept her from the workhouse,
sufficient money to carry her by train to
Glasgow and from thence she had made
her way, now on foot, now begging lift
in passing cart or wagon, to within n
few miles of Fort George, when she was
caught in the snow storm; and, wander
ing from the road, would have perished
in the snow-but for Laddie.
Ny wife is in tears and Mary is
sobbing audibly rs the little old woman
concludes her touching and simple
story, and 1 walk to the widow and look
out for moment before am able to
ask her what her sons name is. As l
tell her we are from Fort George, and
that 1 will send over for him, smile
Eliminates the wintered face.
"His name is John Slater" she says,
she is o tall, handsome lad; they will
know him by that.
1 hasten down stairs and write short
note to Col. Freeman, whom know in-
timately, informing him of the circum-
stances, and begging that he may bring
him back without loss of time.
As | return to the house after seeing
him start, met DR.. Bruce leaving the
house.
Poor old SOUL" he says, "her
troubles are nearly over; she is sinking
fast. Ialmost doubt whether she will
live till her son comes"
"How she could have accomplished
such journey at her age, cannot un-
derstand,, l observe"
Nothing is impossible to mother .
answers DIR. Bruce; "but it has killed
her."
go in; but 1 find 1 cannot settle to
my usual occupations. My thoughts are
with the aged heroine who is dying up.
stairs, and presently 1 yield to the fas-
cination that draws me back 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 expectlnt
look in them.
"At what time may We expect them?"
whispered my wife to me.
MOI pelolel lour, auS"eI Ill Iie salile
tone.
"He will be too late, fear" she says;
"she is getting rapidly weaker"
But love is stronger than death, and
she will not go until her son comes. All
through the winters day she lies dying,
obediently taking what nourishment is
given her, but never speaking, except to
say:
my lad, my lad God is good; he will
not let me die until he comes"
last 1 hear the dog cart. lay my
finger on my lip and tell Mary to go and
bring John Slater up very quietly. But
my caution is needless; the mother has
heard the sound, and with a last effort of
her remaining strength she raises herself
and stretches out her arms. MY lad.