The Portland daily press., 1895-12-27


her feet move painfully and reluctant
~ She would have liked to battle them
IN brook, but that, too, was forbidden.
She took the letter from her bosom and
reperused it and whipped up her flag
glng strength with cry of, Courage,
my lamb; the little mother is on the
way Then the leaden clouds melted
into sharp lines of rain, which beat into
her face, refreshing her for the first few
minutes, but soon wetting her to the
skin, making her sopped garments a
heavier burden, and reducing the path
way to mud that clogged still further
her feeble footsteps. In the teeth of. the
wind and the driving shower she limp
ed on. A fresh anxiety consumed her
now-would she have strength to hold
out? Every moment her pace lessened
She was moving like snail. And the
slower she went the more vivid grew
her prescience of what awaited her at
the journey S end. Would she even hear
has dying word? Perhaps - terrible
thought-she would only be in time to
look upon his dead facel Perhaps that
was how God would punish her for her
Dissertation of the holy day. ''Take
heart, my lamb, :" she walled edo not
die yet. The little mother comes. 4"
The rain stopped. The sun came out
hot and fierce and dried her hands and
face, then made them stream again with
perspiration. Every inch won was torture
now, but the brave feet toiled on.
Bruised and swollen and crippled, they
toiled on. There was a dying voice
very far off yet, alas-that called to her,
and as she dragged herself along she
cried: ST am coming, my lamb Take
heart l. The little mother is on the way.
Couragel I shall look upon thy face. I
shall find thee alivei"
Once WAGNER observed her plight
and offered her lift, but she shook her
head steadfastly. The endless afternoon
wore on. She crawled along the forest
way, stumbling every now and then
from sheer faintness and tearing her
hands and face in the brambles Of the
roadside. At last the cruel sun waned,
and reeking mists rose from the forest
pools. And still the long miles stretched
away, and still she plodded on, torpid
from overexertion, scarcely conscious,
taking each step only because she had
taken the preceding. From time to time
her lips mumbled, ''Take heart, my
i lamb /; 1 am coming" The Sabbath was
"out" ere, broken and bleeding, and all
but swooning, the little grandmother
cr.oxu1od nv, to hos, Gov. 10 SOW -, 49, ~,
der Of the forest. Her heart was cold
with fatal forebodings. There was none
Of the usual Saturday might litter of
Polish peasantry about the door, The
sound Of many voices, weirdly intonat-
ing Hebrew hymn, foated out into the
night. A man in caftan opened the
door and mysteriously raised his fore
finger to bid her enter without noise.
The little grandmother saw into the
room behind. Her daughter in-law and
her grandchildren were seated on the
foor-tle seat of mourners
blessed be the true Judge, she said,
and rent the skirt of her dress "When
did he die?"
Yesterday We had to bury him has
tily ere the Sabbath came in.
The little grandmother lifted up her
quavering voice and joined the hymn
81 will sing new song unto thee, O
God! Upon harp of ten strings will
sing praises unto thee. -
y X
The nurses could not understand what
sudden inflow of strength and impulse
raised the mummified figure into sit
ting posture. The little grandmother
thrust a shriveled claw into her peaked,
shrunken bosom and drew out paper,
crumpled and yellow as herself, covered
with strange, Grabbed hieroglyphics,
whose hue had long since faded. She
held it close to her bleared eyes, A
beautiful light came into them and il
lumined the million puckered face. The
lips moved family. ''I am coming, my
lamb" she mumbled. "Couragel The
little mother is on the way. I shall look
on thy face. I shall find thee alive
THE END.