The Mankato free press. [volume] (Mankato, Blue Earth County, Minn.) 1879-1924, 1891-04-24
probably become great builder, and

probably become a great builder, and
would be a rich man in time; and
when you began to call on me and in
yite me to Sunday afternoon walks,
how proud was to think you favored
me above all others. Then came our
marriage, and it was at this time that
the western fever took possession
of the young men of New England
and how we'll do [ remember, Josh,
how you used to talk. What glowing
pictures you drew of the wonderful
opportunities that were in store for
young people in the Glands beyond
the Mississippi" And / trusted in
you, for [ believed in you, and we
came on here-and, dear Josh, you
know the hardShips we have had to
endure, but | have tried not to COM
plain, and do not complain now.
You have always been a good, kind
husband to me, and you have always
done the best you could; you have
never sQuandered money, and have
kept the house the best | could. Yet,
in spite of all our economizing, we are
poor to-day, dear Josh, and our chill
dren are growing up with no chance
of doing any better than we have
done; and you cannot blame me, my
dear, dear husband, for rejecting on
these things. Do you remember, dear
Josh, when my brother wanted you to
give up going West and go into part
nership with him, at the time we were
married? He was also carpenter but
had begun to take contracts for put
ting up large blocks. He said if you
would join him you would both go to
New York and branch out as build
erS. And how is it now, my dear Josh?
MY brother went to, New York and
followed building, and to-day he is oh
SO rich! and lives in an elegant house
on Madison AVenue--and Just to
think, dear Josh, his wife has more
fine things in one room uSt one room
than could be bought and paid for
by us, ii we turned our farm and
stock and all we have, into money.
| do not care so much for fine things,
Josh. 1t is not that, that lam think
ing of. 1t is for you that | am anX-
ious. We are getting old my dear hus-
band, and hard work is telling on you.
Your shoulders begin to droop and
your step is weary. You look tired
and worn, and it almost breaks my
heart when l think of the future. [
could not go back home when my poor
mother died-we could not afford it
but dear, dear Josh, you will promise
me, won't you, that when [ die, you
will not bury me here-yOu will take
me back to the 'SOrrOWing, SObbing
sea- You will, won't you, Josh. You
will take me back 10 the dear old
hOme-prOmiSe me now, dear Josh,
for L feel that l cannot be with you a
great while longer. | have tried to
be good, faithful wife to you, and |
hope L have proved myself as such
but L was never very strong, and what
with rearing a family of children, and
attending to all the duties of a farm
erS wife, with no change from the
dull, weary mOnOtOny, hearing scarce
ly anything talked but politics, which
has never, as / could see, improved
our condition SO much as pennyS
worth. What wonder, dear Josh, that
am about worn outat last: and now,
all | ask is that you promise me that
you will take me back home when the
end has come"
I.gaye my sacred promise, but a
great sorrow filled my soul, and |
wondered why it was that [ had not
noticed before that my wife was fail
ing. Her pale and sunken cheek
should have told me months ago what
now came upon me with stunning,
crushing effect. [ could not have it
so. My wife should, yes, must get
strong. She shall go back to the old
home this very summer, and the sea
breeZes will restore her; she is worn
out and needs rest.
Come wife, come children" said /,
after supper.we will gather around the
Preside in the front room, and will
tell you story, as it was told to me
to-day by Deacon Goodwin. 1t is a
wonderful story, and, wife, you will
be glad to hear it, for it will do you
good" And that evening with my
beloved family gathered about me, |
related Deacon Goodwin's dream.
UNCLE JOSH.