The Monitor. [volume] (Woodstown, N.J.) 1884-1892, 1891-11-20
STORY OF A
1t Won a Mother Back to Health aud
Happiness.

ike himself, was one OF the WORKERS On a
large ranch. Caleb's stumpy figure was
bending over a large table in the rough
back porch and his face was drawn into a
pucker which told that his task was no
easy one.
Eyes, it's early | know, but it's mail
day to-morrow-and | thought I'd send a
letter"
"Folks back east?'' asked James.
"Well, haven't got many folks. Amt
SO well off as you are. It's my stepmother,
but she's a good woman and likes to hear
from me and l think l ought to"
No one ever thought of taking Caleb for
an exemplar in anything. He was slow
and clumsy in his movements and never
dreamed of presuming to make a sugges-
ton of duty to anyone. But it had to
be observed that Caleb was to be relied on.
sIf you look for him where he belongs
he is sure to be there" his employer had
been heard to say. And some of the boys
had noticed that Caleb's quiet Il think |
ought to" always referred to something he
was sure to do.
James had intended calling upon Caleb
for assistance in the turning of water into
the irrigating ditch upon which the crops
SO largely depended, but he now turned
away and ven by himself, with a weight
at his heart and a shadow upon his brow.
II asked the reason for it he might have
been slow to admit to anyone else that it
was called there By a consciousness of neg
lect of duty, bat the fact was very plain to
himself.
Just a stepmother. If Caleb thinks
its a matter of ought to- write to her
about every mail day l wonder what he'd
do if he had a mother and a father and a
sister. Heigho. l didn't expect to be
gone three years when l got mad aid
quit"
In the early s~pringtime James had been
seized with a spasm of remorse at his long,
cruel neglect of those who loved him, to
whom he was so much and to whom he
realized he owed it to be such comfort.
I'm write. And some day I'll go back
and do my best by EN-"
He did write, his letter carrying all the
joy which may be imagined into the old
farmhouse. Father and mother had
answered. the sight Of their poor cramped
hand writing bringing tears to the eyes
of the wandering son. And Susan had
written:
Father says he'll never miss driving in
to the post Office on the days that a letter
could get here after your mail day. And
mother stands at the gate watching for
him to come back"
1t had reached his heart and spurred MIN
up to writing quite regularly for awhile.
Then the intervals between bis letters had
grown longer, and now for weeks be had
not written.
Passing later again near Caleb's rough
library he paused with half a smile. The
sun tanned, freckled face was now, in the
throes of an effort to accomplish a fine
looking ADDRESS to his letter, drawn into a
series of knots and wrinkles astonishing
to behold. All OF a sudden they relaxed
into a smile of pride and delight as he held
up and contemplated the scraggy result Of
his efforts.
I'D rather pillow all day. be said, meet
ing James gaze with a beaming eye. "1es,
| would. | always feel as though I'd
tackled a big job and got the better OF it
when I've wrote a letter. | feel as light
as a feather. When l used to let it slip
sometimes l felt as though | had a stone to
carry. [ feel that way now when writin'
times comm. But I've found the best
way to get rid of that feelin's just to get
right at it and do it. l think that's the
way with most things when you think you
ought to, don't you?"
Yes, l do" said James, as he went on
| tow ard the stables. And when you know
you ought to, as do" he added to him
self.
Caleb followed him with a shout be-
| tokening his unburdened condition of
mind, and leading out one of the shaggy
ponies used in herding the cattle, was soon
galloping the four miles to the point at
which the weekly mail was gathered.
Scant and irregular it was, and who can
tell how many anxious hearts watched for
it's news of loved ones, or waited in the
WEAKNESS of hope deferred for tidings
which did not come.
The full moon arose over the wide ex-
panse of rolling mountainous scenery as
| the riders form was lost in the distance.
James leaned against a rough cart and
| gazed mechanically about him.
81 wish | had written too. | didn't
mean to get into loose ways about it
again-as sure as l live | dida't.
| Mother watching at the gate, Susy
| said. Is'pose it's the same old gate-the
| one l used to swing on when | was little
| and got scolded for it Next Tuesday,
| be the DAY mother'l be watching"
In the hush of the glorious light his
| thoughts wandered over years gone by.
Far back, almost to infancy, did bis mem
ory stray, bringing up scenes vague and
misty, incidents only dimly recalled; yet
in all his mothers face, gentle and tender,
| seemed to stand out distinctly. Sometimes