Year: 1872

Home, in which Miss Ingelow's serial, Oi
the SlelIings,' is now being published


Many a mother who will not see her bab
again . for years and years" will appre
clate its beauty, It's tender pathos, and it.
tullness of consolation ::


Once in the dusk Of the evening moth
er sat rocking the cradle.


1t was harvest time. The day had beer
hot, and she had been out cleaning.


bundle Of wheat lay beside her on the
brick floor. She sighed from heat anC
weariness, but the babe was restless, anC
she began to talk to it in soothing tones
as with her foot she kept gently and me
chanically rocking the cradle


A young lady sat opposite to her. There
had been pause in their previous conver-
sation the mother interrupted it by
pushing the bundle Of wheat further from
her, and remarSing that it was very
small one.


e" Yes" said the young lady in a soft
voice, it seems not much to have toied
Y for a whole day, and such 4 hot day "
4 As she said this a sound of distant sing
ing struck upon their ears it was very
! bolsterous and unmelodous singing. Their
/ eyes met, and the young lady continued
= did not like 10 ask where John was
Martha, but Fm afraid, now he can leave
his bed again, he goes on his old way "
The woman sighed, and a watt Of even
ing air made the druukard's song audible
again, she rocked the cradle with a quicker
motion, and set her face with a resolute
expression, gazing at the still glowing sky.
Every note 10 that song seemed to cut her
to the heart, 1t was a sore subject but by
silence only she answered the question
and when she lifted her apron to wipe her
tanned face, she said, without changing her
attitude or Withdrawing her steady eyes
from the SKY, " | am kindly obliged to
your m ANNA for the neeile-work." D."


Mother thought it was better for you
than working in the fields said the girl.


The woman's foot moved more quickly
still, the song was too much for her. and
she threw her apron over her head and
sobbed.


g" Don't cry, Martha" said the girl,
compassionately as she rose and quietly
closed the easement ; that does no good
you know, and makes you feel the more"


Tne baby in the cradle threw up its lit
tie arms and uttered a cry, perhaps the
hasty movement Of the mothers fco. had
startled it. Nothing could be more tender
than the slightly broken voice in which the
poor woman soothed 1t, saying, My dear
jewel, l hope tbou'lt be happier than am
| hope thou'It never have drinking hus-
band


" She is going off to sleep again, Mar
tha,' said the girl as she stopped over
the cradle.


" Bess her, replied her mother, with a
sigh Of fatigue, i" hope she'll not have to
work as hard as her mother does. When
| think what il is-such hard life. such
q deal Of labor to he brought up To and
sucn language TO bear, and such coarse
eating and drinking-an1 as for covering
-ah dear ! think sometimes, as lie
awake at night waiting until John comes
home from the ale house, think though
love her dearer than all the world, l
would give her away from me if | knew
any body that wanted her, and could bring
her up better"


Give her sway said the young girl,
with "A smile No that | am sure you
would not, Martha -


!. Well. | like to think Of it, returned
tue mother, " but [ might 6nd it hard to
DO. However. somehow | can't keep my
head from running on it sometimes, but
you know people don't want to have poor
folks children, 50 | NAV wish as long as !
like. Sometim es | even wish she had been
born to the rich instead Of to me.


" What! said the young lady, " would
you like TO know now after all you nave
done for her. that she was not your own
child, and you had only been nursing her
for her real parent Or should you like it
# YOU could look down into the cradle Just
now, and find that the baby was not there,
and could be told that a rich man had got
her. and meant to adopt her, and would
bring her up well. and let her live in his
house, and be taken care of, and you new
er, never to see her again-shOud you
like that


30. no. no." replied her mother
never to see her again, and her not even
to krow she was my child, OF know any
thing about me no, don't think | could
bear that. She looked down into the
cradle. and softly touched the child's deli
cate arm with her rough hand, as if 10 as
sure herself that the picture which her
young visitor had presented TO her was
unreal, and then she continued in musing
tone, And yet, bless her, what can do
for her? Why Just lay her down under a
hedge all day, and then let her cry if she
must cry, and sleep if she can sleep-that's
all"


" And love her ?" suggested the girl.


Yes, to te sure, love her" SAID the
mother but that | could do whatever





long was away from her could love
her lust as vel in another mans house.
Well. if [ came to be tried, and any body
was to offer to take her-any body that
knew would be good to her-and she was
to live in plenty, and be happy, and kept
awav from wickedn and mischief,
don't know but what could give her, even
If was not to see her again for years and
wears. But | need not tak-who would
have her, poor lamb "


=. No, Martha, don't think any one
could said the young lady, " but you
will do for her yourself as well as you can,
and when she grows older she Will be
great help and comfort to you"


don't mean to say but what she is
great comfort now," replied the mother,
resting her hands upon her knees, and look
ipg down in the dusk upon her child.
.. But then she's careful comfort. It's
only along of my being SO fond Of her that
| ever took these wishes into my head, for
sometimes when I'm cleaning, or hoelng
turnips. or what not, and when I'm forced
to leave her to cry by herself, and can't
help feeling that I'm a poor creature that's
hard-worked, and neither food nor cover
ing enough to keep cold and hunger off
and husband that doesn't care what be-
comes of her. through the ale house-why
then take to fancying what she may come
| =. -. n 90 u rrnrn an and with She m U