Martinsburg herald. [volume] (Martinsburg, W. Va.) 1881-1920, 1893-07-01
JUST A LITTLE TOO LATE.
A Tale with Moral for Wanderers from
Home.

1t vas no very exacting ambition
that Robert Young's mother had
cherished all her life She lived very
quietly On the Western prairie farm
to which she and her husband had
gone together when they were both
young. She did not expect to be rich,
or even think about it. She was con-
tent with the homely round of her
daily life. Sometimes her husband
used to say that if they had only hap
pened to go here or there, where
some of the friends of his youth had
found copper or silver, or struck OIL
they also might have been worth
millions; but the wife always an
swered, at WANT to be, John, it
want to be. And we've done pretty
we'll, as things go; but / should "a
liked one good black silk dress"
This was the only wish that Rob.
ert Young had ever heard his mother
Express, and he used to say to himself
when bay;
BLESS the dear mother. She shall
have it the very first money | earn"
ItObtl IutiICl3 tOp, lloubti III MS
own mind the sane thing; but one
year the harvest turned out badly,
and another the children, had diph-
liberia, and so it was that the good
black silk had never Ieen bought.
1t was strange thing hat the son
of John and Rachel Young should
have been an artist; but Robert be-
gan to draw before he could write,
and at last he got hold of box OF
cOlOrs through the kindness of one OF
his Sunday-school teachers, and then
he made pictures that dazzled the
eyes of bis prairie neighlors.
As lie grew older he got orders for
portraits from proud parents who
were willing to give five dollars for a
daughters or sons likeness; and he
saved these small sums until, by the
time he was eighteen, he had enough
money to take him to Boston, where
he hoped 10 find good teacher, and
to do something really worth while.
His struggle in the city was hard
enough, to begin with. Every snow
storm was friend to him, for wbcr-
ever he shoyeled off steps and side
walks they were sure t. want him
again, he did his work so cheerfully
and So we'll
He pad for his lessons by taking
care of the studio of the artist under
whom he studied. lie was ready tc
do any honest thing to earn an hon.
est penny, and at last, even in Bos,
ton, people found out that he had
special talent of his own, and began
to buy his pictures.
There were so many things at first
to do with the money he earned. He
must have a little studio OF his own
where people could come. and it
would not answer for the artist who
had his own studio to live like the
youth who used to shovel off side
walks. He did not forget the good
black silk dress, or the mother who
was to wear it; he only waited.
AT last came spring when he had
been fairly prosperous, and he plan
ned to go home for his moi her birth
day in August, and to carry the dress
with him. But just then he received
an invitation that hattered him.
His former teaeEer was going to Fps
witch for "A summer of sketching, ard
asked Robert to go with him.
1t seemed an opportunity too good
to lie lost. So he went to Ipswich,
and the summer flew by as if on
wings, and Robert did not go home
in August; he only wrote letter.
Ii was October before he started
for the far>off prairie farm. Once on
his way, he hurried forward by night
and day until he reached the little
station that was nearest to his home.
He had written when he should ar
rive, but he did not see his father
waiting for him as he had expected.
He felt a momentary sense of injury:
but just then an old neighbor came
up.
Il s'pose you might as well ride
home long with me, he said. 81 told
'em I'd fetch We, as long as yer pa
couldn't"
Couldn't! Why?7
"Waal, ! sort Ter hate to tell We, Tut
yer mother she had shock er palsy
Yesterday, and yer father don't like
ter leave her jest yit."
There was strange choking in
Robert Young's throat. The good
black silk dress was in his yalise, but
he had brought it too late.
a taS+