Year: 1877

AS we reach the avenue gate dispatch
one OF the men for the doctor, who FORUM
atey lives within stones throw of U.s. and
hurry on to prepare my wife for what is
coming. She runs into the hall TO meet me.
Well :" she asks eagerly.


We have found poor old woman"
say; "but ! do not know whether she is
alive or dead"


You will find some dry clothing in your
dressing-room, DEAR" she says and this is
all the revenge she takes on me for my skep-
ticism. The poor old woman is carried up
stairs and placed in a warm bath under nv
wlfe's direction; and before the doctor
arrives she has shown some faint symptoms
81 life-so my wife sends me word. DR..
Bruce shakes his head when he sees her.
Poor old SOUL" he says how came she
out on the moor on such fearful night d? |
fear she has received shock which at her
age she will not easily get over"


They manage, however, to force few
'poonfuls of hot drink down her throat
and presently faint color hickers on her
cheek, and the poor eyelids begin to tremble.
My wife raises her head and makes her swal-
low some cordial which DIR. Bruce has
brought with him, and then lays her back
tmong the soft, warm pillows. think she
VIII rally, now" says DIR. Bruce, as her
breathing becomes more audible and regu-
lar. Nourishment and warmth will do the
rest but she has received shock from
which fear, she will never recover"


By-and'by go up to the room and find
my wife watching alone by the aged suf-
terer. She looks up at Inc with tears in her
Eyes. "Poor old SOUL" she says, " am
AFRAID she will not rally from the cold and
exposure"


go around to the other side of the bed
and look down upon her. The aged face
looks wan and pinched, and the scanty gray
ocks which lie on the pillow are still wet
rom the snow. She is a very little woman,
Is far as | can Judge of her in her recum-
)ent position, and should think must have
reached her allotted three-score years and
ien Who can she be? I repeat, won
ieringly. She does not belong to any of
.he villages hereabouts, or we should know
ler face; and cannot imagine what could
)ring stranger to the moor on such
night"


AS speak change passes over her face
,he eyes unclose, and she looks inquiringly
lbout her. She tries to speak, but is ev-
IDENTITY too weak. My wife raises her, and
tives her spoonful of nourishment, while
he says soothingly; Don't try to speak.
You are among friends and when you are
,etter you shall tell us all about yourself.
Lie still now and try to sleep"


The gray head drops back YEARLY upon
he pillow; and soon we have the satisfac-
ion of hearing by the regular respiration
hat our patient is asleep.


You can come to bed now, jessie" |
say; " shall ring for Mary, and she can sit
up for the remainder of the night" But
my wife, who is tenderhearted soul and a
born nurse, will not desert her post so |
leave her watching and retire to my soli-
tary chamber.


When we meet in the morning find that
The little old woman hHs spoken few words
and seems stronger. Come in wi
now," says my wife, "and let Us try 70 ma
out who she is" We found her propped
up in a reclining posture with pillows, and
Mary beside her, feeding her.


" How are you now 7" asks Jessie, bend
ing over her.


Better, much better, thank you, good
LADY," she says, in voice which trembles
from age as well as weakness. And very
grateful to you for your goodness"


hear at once by the accent that she is
English. Are you strong enough to tell
me how you got lost on the moor, and
where you came from, and where you were
gong CONTINUES my Wlle.


"Ah was going to my lad, my poor
lad, and now fear | shall never, never see
him more," says the poor soul, with a long
sigh of WEAKNESS.


Where is your lad, and how far have
you Gomez"


My lad is soldier at Fort George, and
have come all the way from Liverpool to
see him, and give him his old mothers
blessing before he goes to the Indies" And
lhen, brokenly with long pauses of weari-
ness and weakness the little old woman tells
US her pitiful story.


Her lad, she tells us, is her only remain
ing child. She had six, and this, the
youngest, is the only one who did not die of
want during the Lancashire cotton famine.
lie grew up fine, likely boy, the comfort
and pride of his mothers heart, and the stay
OF her declining years. But "strike "
threw him out of work, and unable to en-
dure the privation and misery, in a fit of
desperation he listed His regiment was
quartered at Fort George, and he wrote
regularly to his mother, his letters getting
more cheerful and hopeful every day, until
suddenly he wrote to say that his regiment
was ordered to India, and begging her to
send him her blessing, as he had not enough
money to carry him TO Liverpool to see her.
The aged mother, widowed and childless,
save for this one remaining boy, felt that
she must look on his face once more before
she died. She begged from few ladies,
whose kindness had kept her from the work
house, sufficient money to carry her by train
to Glasgow, and from thence she had made
her way, now on foot, now begging lift in
passing cart or wagon, to within few
miles of Fort George, when she was caught
3 Oh ,Hart hsa
road, would have perished in the snow but
for Laddie


My wife is in tears and Mary is sobbing
audibly as the little old woman concludes
her simple and touching story, and | walk
TO the window and look out for moment
before am able 10 ask her what her sons
name is. As | tell her we are but few
miles from Fort George, aud that | will
send over for him, smile of extreme con-
tent illuminates the withered face 81 His
name is John Salter," she says. He is a
tall, handsome lad they will know him by
that"


| hasten downstairs and write a short
note to Colonel Freeman, whom | know in
timately, informing him of the circumstance,
and begging that he will allow John Salter
to come over at ono, an | dispat"N
groom in the dog-cat,. taat he ma


MIN back without loss OF time. A
turn to the house after seeing him start,
meet DIR. Bruce leaving the house.


Poor old SOUL he says " her troubles
are nearly over; she is sinking fast. | al
most doubt whether she will live till her son
comes"


go in, but find cannot settle to my
usual occupations My thoughts are with
the aged heroine who is dying upstairs, and
suddenly | yield to the fascination which
draws me back to her presence.


As DR.. Bruce says, she is sinking fast
She lies back on the pillows, her cheeks as
ashy gray as her hair. She clasps my wife's
hand in hers, but her eyes are wide open,
and have an eager, expectant look in them.
At what time may we expect them 7"


Not before four" answer in the same
tone.


lie will be too late, fear" she says !;
"she is getting rapidly weaker


But love is stronger than death, and she
,oW not go until her son come. All through
the winters day she lies dying, obediently
taking what nourishment is given to her
but never speaking except to say, My lad
my lad God is good he will not let me
die until he comes"


And at last hear the dog-cart. | lay
my finger on my lip and tell Mary to go and
bring John Salter up very quietly. But my
caution is needless the mother has heard
the sound, and with last effort of her re-
naming strength she raises herself and
stretches out her arms. "Aly lad, my lad I"
she pasps, as with great sob he springs