Walker Lake bulletin. (Hawthorne, Nev.) 1883-1926, 1894-03-07
ON THE WAY TO THE pooaHouse
She Did Not See God In the Sunshine,
but He Was There and Took Her.

She Did Not See God In the Sunshine,
but He Was There and Took Her.
The county house wagon drew up 1T the
old farmhouse door in the early morning
light and the poor overseer got out and
knocked ON the door with the butt end of
his whip.
Hey" quavered a thin voice within.
who's there"
We've come for ye, mother" said the
overseer.
"Who calls me 'motherpn asked the
tremulous voice, and then the door was
opened by shaky hand and an old wom-
an dressed in shawl and hood stood in the
doorway
~ member" she sail slowly, nodding
toward the wagon; Its the selectmen, an
spose they know best, but II Jim knew
film knew-that his poor mother was
goin to the poorhouse 1t 'ud break his
heart"
CAR ye ready, mother" asked the man
gently.
eyes, be. amt slept sence heard ye
were comm for me- It's all right, an l
don't blame ye, but it's hard to hev worked
all yer life an raised a family, an then die
In the poorhouse. It'll almost kill Jim
when he knows"
The man ON the doorstep coughed and
turned away, pretending to examine the
wisteria vine that blossomed over the door,
Not for worlds would he have told her that
he was only carrying out Jim's orders
against the time he should bring his wife
to the old farmhouse.
She came out slowly, looking with vague,
wondering eyes at all she was leaving, the
trees she and Harvey-that was her hus-
band-had planted when they were young,
at the bed of cinnamon pinks and the lilac
bushes at the gate. She stopped and gath
cred some Of the fragrant southern wood
''old man" they called it-and then she
looked up at the window of one room
bridehood, wifehood, motherhood, angel
hood, that meant to her. Little Carrie
had died there, Harvey had looked his
last in the heaven of her eyes there. That
was nigh on to forty years ago. Why,
where was God this fair summer morning
that he had forgotten her and let her go
to the poorhouseS
"Hurry up, mother" said the man gen.
tly; "were to call for another paup-pas-
senger bit farther down the road. 'Tain't
much you're a-leavin"-with a short
laugh. He was trying to make the best of
1t for her.
He helped her into the wagon, and in
the golden light of another new day they
moved on, jogging along the country road,
sweet with the scented life of nature, until
they reached the stile that led into the old
graveyard, where the sentinel stones shone
among the trees in their strange dumb
whiteness
"Oh, eff you didn't mind, if l just could
say word to Harvey, it world help me 30
much, an l wouldn't be long, wouldn't
keep you waitin."
"All right, mother" The overseer
jumped out and helped her to the ground.
Don't be long, there's good soul," and
he lit his pipe and talked to the driver,
apologizing for his weakness.
"'Tain't like as If she were common
pauper," he said; ''there are folks here as
remember when she was the belle of the
county, and they do say it is this son Jim
that has run through with her property an
Is gettin her out of the way SO he won't
have to pay for her keep. l wouldn't tell
her for a house and lot"
"She wouldn't believe yer if yer did,"
said the driver sententiously; "but she's
takin her time in yonder"
No. 1t was not time she was taking, but
eternity. When the overseer went to look
for her she lay with her withered cheek
pressed to the moss grown stone that bore
the name of her husband and a smile that
seemed to be a reflected glory from para
disc lit up her peaceful face. 1t had come
to her in one brief moment, the assurance
that she would not go to the poorhouse,
and then-she had gone home.-Mrs. M. l.
Rayne in Detroit Free Press.