Year: 1871

Mother dear, cannot leave you Let
me unDack my trunk and remain at home
| can find something TO do here. y


You had better go, Ellen The moth
er spoke these words in low tone, and
with her face turned away from her child !;
and it was plain to be seen she had been
speaking as she had schooled herself to
speak-no: from the impulses of the heart,
but from the dictates OF necessity.


Mary Anderson was a middle aged wo-
man, slight of frame; from whose pale
care worn face the traces of rare beauty
were not yet obliterated. Her daughter
resembled her, not only in form and feature,
but also in the expression of care and toll
which cast its shadows over her face. They
lived alone in the humble cot, just out from
the village, and for years their daily bread
had been earned by constant labor Ellen
had learned to work when a mere prattling
child, and as she grew older her busy hands
found employment in many useful ways.
And now, at the age of fifteen, she had
made arrangements to go away from home
and work among strangers. Her few clothes
had been packed into a small trunk, and the
stage was to call for her the following morn
ing.


1t was in early winter and the day had
been cold and drear. As the sun went
down the snow began to fall, and by the
time the night had set in the storm was
raging furiously.


Il shall be lonesome and unhappy away
from you, my dear mother, said Ellen,
clingiDg TO her parents side.


The storm has set heavily upon your
spirits, my child, returned Mrs. Anderson.
She arose and put more wood upon the fire
and when the blaze leaped once more up
the wide chimney she resumed her seat, and
for some minutes no further words were
spoken.


Finally Ellen drew more closely to her
mothers side, and taking both her hands
she said:


Mother, if must leave in the morning,
You must tell me the story which You prom
Used should hear before | went away"


Mrs. Anderson clasped her hands upon
her bosom, and bowed her head I'LL her face
was hid in shadow


Dear mother, | do not mean to pain you
but 0, | must know something of my faith
er before | 20 out into the world. The
doubts Of uncertainty are more brrdensome
than a knowledge Of the truth can possibly
be. Il he-even--was guilty Of


Hush, my child. - and as the mother
thus spoke, she put forth her hama and
rested it upon her daughters head. Il
will tell you this story. IF knew your
father was dead l would let the grave hide
the sad record but DO not know it,


The storm was increasing in fury, and as
the driven snow came piling about the win
dows, and the chill wind creeping through
cracks aud crannies, the mother and child
drew nearer to the fire aud shuddered as
some giant blast hurled its load Of snow
upon the quivering panes.


20, Ellen, it was ON such a night as this
thirteen years ago. The storm was riding
in the heavens and the white snow vas driv-
ing upon the earth 1t was on such night
that your father left US


Ellen, you are to go away to morrow,
and as we don know v hat may happen be-
yond this | shall tel you all about your
ia;her 1t won't la in many words, darling,
AMI /: : dark you will find it might have
been worse.


Tive aud twenty years ago there was not
anothe- young man in all this section so
generally liked Tor his social and generous
qualities as vas Thomas Anderson He was
the very picture of manly beauty, aud type
ot ali that was devoted. When became
his wife | was euyiGd Ly my friends; and [
certainly felt proud and happy For two
years our life passed in joy and sunshine and
nos cloud rested upon US. A little cherub
had come to bless US, whom we named
Freddy; and think Thomas held that lit
tie one in his heart as something heavenly
and sacred. But the boy died and sorrow
came upon US. My husband had always
been tree to drink wine when he pleased.
though until now had never seen him dis
guised in liquor.


Freddy died in June and in September
following Thomas was thrown out of work
by the failure of the company who had EN-.
ployed him-not only thrown out of work.
but ne lost much money which he had in
vested in the concern. The long, cold win