The Pioche weekly record. [volume] (Pioche, Nev.) 1877-1900, 1890-08-30
A TALK TO SIS.

Tome here, Sis, and sit down beside
M, and let me give you a little talking
to. That is right. Sit clear at the
other end of the sofa. It makes more
room for my govt and corns, besides
being good habit for young lady to be
addicted to. Always pander to this
habit and you will in time find yourself
walking through the green meadows and
beside the still waters Of self respect.
You may be walking alone, to be sure,
but will have fewer lawn dresses to do
up on Monday morning. l wish to speak
to you OF your mother. 1t may be you
have noticed q careworn look upon her
face lately. Of course. it has not been
brought there by any act of yours. still it
is your duty to chase it away. I don't
mean for you to run At and shake your
skirts and tell it "Shoo!" as you would
hen, nor do I expect you to get on the
other side of the fence and throw old
oyster cans and pieces of barrel slaves at
it. as you did at the COW yesterday.
But I want you to get up tomorrow
morning and get breakfast, and when
your mother comes down and begins to
express her surprise, 60 right up to her
and kiss her on the mouth. You don't
imagine how it will brighten up her dear
face. Besides, you owe her akiss or two.
Away back when you were a little girl
she kissed you when no one else was
tempted by your fever-tainted breath
and swollen face. You were not as at
tractive then as you are now. And
along through those years of childish
sunshine and shadows she was always
ready to cure, by the magic of mothers
kiss, the little dirty, chubby hands when
ever they were injured in those first
skirmishes with the rough old world.
And then the midnight kisses with
which she had routed so many bad
dreams, a. she leaned over your restless
pillow, have all been on interest these
long. long years. Of course, she is not
80 pretty and kissable as you are, but if
you had done your share of the work
during these last ten years the contrast
would not be so marked. Her face has
more wrinkles than yours, far more, and
yet it you were sick that face would ap.
pear to you to be more beautiful than an
angels as it lowered over you, watching
every opportunity to minister to your
comfort, and every one of those wrinkles
seem to be bright wavelets Of sunshine
chasing each other over the dear old face.
She will leave you one of these days.
Those burdens, if not lifted from her
shoulders, will break her down. Those
rough. hard hands that have done so
many unnecessary things for you will be
crossed upon her lifeless breast. Those
neglected lips that gave you your first
baby kiss will be forever closed; and
those sad, tired eyes will have opened in
eternity, and then you will appreciate
your mother, but it will be to late.
There, there, don't cry; she has not left
you yet. She is down 10 the kitchen
stringing beans for dinner, and if you
feel so badly you might 60 down and
finish them, and let her change her dress
and rest an hour before dinner. And
after dinner you might do up the dishes
while she takes little nap. Then you
might take down her hair and do it up
for her. You need not wind it over
your fingers and fuss to make spit.curls
as she used to do with yours, but give it
a good brushing and wind it up gently
and tenderly, as if you enjoyed doing it
for her. The young man down in the
parlor can wait until you have performed
these duties. --Peck's Sun.