The Worthington advance. [volume] (Worthington, Minn.) 1874-1908, 1886-02-25
THE BREAD SHOES.

"A poor woman QWelC alone az the
edge of the village in a humble cottage.
1t was quite poor hut and contained
only the most indispensable furniture.
An old bedstead with twisted posts
and curtains of yellow serge, a box OF
bread, wooden chest, clean and shin
ing. but in which the numerous worm
holes, stopped with wax, told of long
service, worn arm chair, and spinning
wheel, polished by use-that was all.
We had almost forgotten a cradle,
quite new very softly lined and spread
with pretty coverlet, embroidered by
mothers tireless needle. All the riches
of the poor house was concentrated
there. A burgomeister's child could
not have lain more softly. Sacred fol-
ly of mother, who denies herself of
every thing to provide little luxury
for her precious nurseling.
The cradle gave a festal air to the
wretched howell. The pigeons alighted
in the window and cooed gently until
the baby fell asleep. A bird to which
little Hans threw crumbs in the winter
when the earth was white with snow,
had dropped seed from it's beak at
the foot of the wall in springtime. and
a beautiful vine had grown from it,
which climbing up the stones with its
green fingers, had entered the room
through a broken window pane and
crowned the cradle with its garland, so
that IN the morning the blue eyes of
the little boy and the blue bells of the
vine awoke together, and looked at
each other with understanding. So
that the house, though poor was cheer
full.
The mother, who was a widow, lived
as well rs she could on a few vege-
tables from her garden and what she
earned by her wheel. Very little she
had, but as long as Hans lacked
nothing it was enough.
She was certainly pious and be-
lieving woman, that mother. She
prayed and labored and lived virtu-
ously. But she committed one fault;
she looked with too great complacency
on her son, and grew too pro I'd of him.
1t sometimes happens that mothers,
seeing these lovely, rosy children, with
their fair, dimplea hands imagine
they are theirs forever. But Gud gives
nothing; He only lends; and like for
COTTON creditor he may come suddenly
and demand his due.
Because this fresh bud had bloomed
from her stem the mother of Hans
thought she had given him life.
The God who, from the height
of His paradise, vaulted with azure
and starred with gold, observes all that
passei on earth and hears from the
bounds of infinite space the sound of
grass as it grows, did not see this with
pleasure.
He saw also that Hans was dain tv
and his mother too indulgent. Often
this naughty boy cried when he had to
eat bread after his grapes or apple
bread, the object of the desire to many
an Northumberland his mother al
lowed him to throw away his half
eaten morsel or finish it herself.
Now, it happened that Hans fell i'll.
He had croup-that terrible 1nalady
that has rended with weeping the ewes
of many a mother and father.
You have doubtless seen in some
church the image of Our Lady standing
before the cross, with her breast bare
and seven silver swords plunged into
her heart. The image signifies that no
agony can be more horrible than a
mothers who beholds her dying child.
During the last days of Hans illness
the mother, while she watched over
him. spun mechanically, and the hum
OF the wheel mingled with the rafting
breath of the little sufferer. Ii the
rich think it strange that mother
should spin by her child's death-bed
it's because they know nothing of what
torture poverty contains for the soul;
1t breaketh both body and heart. 1t
was linen for the winding sheet of her
little Hans that she was spinning. She
vas unwilling that the dear body
should be wrapped in cloth that had
already been used and she kept the
wheel buzzing with sad activity; but
she lid not as usual pass the thread
between her lips; tears fell from her
eyes to moisten it.
At the end of the sixth day Hans
died. When his mother was sure that
breath had fled forever from the lips
whereon the violets of death had re-
placed the roses of life, she covered
that head, too dear to her; took up her
package of thread aud went to the
weaver.
Weaver said she, 81 bring you
thread which is even, fine and without
knots. The spider spins not more deli
cately between the rafters of the CELL
ing. From this thread l must have
made web as soft as the linen of Hol-
land or Flanders
When the thread was used the
weaver gave the poor woman the web,
saying that the Emperor's little son,
who died the year before was not
wrapped in softer or finer linen.
The mother then drew from her thin
finger her wedding ring, all worn by
her toll, the only gold she had ever
possessed, and pressed the kind weaver