Year: 1870

Mother, | will be everything to you
that | can be promise you that"


Tho boy lifted his head 4 look high
resolve made the young brow manlike in ex-
preston. Not yet had ten summers decponed
the gold on those fair locks. The earnest
blue eyes looked fondly in the faded face that
bent over him. There was a world Of love
in his soul-a love that was not only lip deep,
but was proved by acts Of soll-denial


The words arc beautiful enough to be ropea-
ted. Henry Locke smiled, because as he
spoke there came tears to his mothers eyes
He had that morning been promised a place
in a country store, five miles from the cot, or
rather cabin, where they lived. It was but
a small pittance but Of late the mother had
grown so feeble that she could earn nothing
could scarcely do the little that order and
neatnoss called for at her hands.


One dollar a week IL was a very little
sum, but better, far betttr than nothing Be
Sides Henry was to have his meals with his
employer, and could if he chose, sleep there.
But he did not choose. For glad smile from
mother; for the pressure Of that feeble hand
for the tender Christian words that came
from those pale lips, he was brayely willing,
after the days hard work, to walk the five
miles dark and tedious though the way was.
Often he came bringing some little delicacy
that he had earned, and which was sweet be-
cause he brought it.


One night the sky was curtained with
clouds. The widow looked from her little
window facing the hilly road along which the
hay-wagons went on their way to the city and
said, as she saw the twilight deepening earlier
than its wont "H He will not come tonight.


No, he would not surely come that night.
The wind blew fierccly, and sent the branches
of the old apple tree rattling against the
capboards, and threw the rain, as with
spite, over the little windows, shceting them,
and making dreary music. So the widow
quite confident that Henry would not venture
out in that storm, read her Bible till her
heart kindled with the Holy words and put
ting out her little light, went to her rest.


She knew not how long she had slept, when
voice awakened her. The sweet voice, 80
dear to her, was crying, Mother, mother "
At first she thought it dream but listening
intently, she heard, blending with the wall OF
the wind, that cry, and a sound against the
latch greeted her. Instantly rising, she
groped for light, uniastened the door, and,
behold there stood Henry, piteous sight, in-
deed, covered with mirc, literally from head
to foot His face was wet but the honest,
happy smile was no ways abated.


MY boy, how could you come on such a
niqht2' exclaimed the widow


"Why, mother, storm couldn't keep me
away from YOU" was his hearty response.
" I've had the greatest time though, you ever
did see--lost my way, got into the creek and
it must be midnight; but | meant to come,
for s. gave me triAe over tonight, and |
knew you needed it,


My dear boy sprung from the
mothers full heart, with tear or two that
trickled down her pale cheeks


| wonder | haven't thought BEFORE" she
said musingly After this, I'll put light
in the window. To be sure it won't show far
but when you get to the top Of the hill, it
will be pleasant to see it, and know that | am
watching for you


For three years the lamp was placed in the
little window every night. People often re-
marked it and " as bright as Mother Locke's
little window" became a lavoritc saying.


At the end of that time, young Henry was
offered good chance on board whaling yes
sci, and he resolved to accept it. Il cost him,
none knew what a struggle, to part from the
being he loved with an almost worshiplul af-
fection. But he knew the time had come
when he must 90 forth into the world to do
battle for himself and for her and sailors
life was his coveted calling.


4" 1t seems to me, Henry" said the mother,
when, with a trembling lip, she parted from
him, as if [ must still put light in the
little window | shall think sometimes
hear the sound Of your footsteps, the click Of
the latch, and your pleasant voice. o Henry
Henry, if | could but light you over the
stormy waters !"


The long voyage was ended, but another
voyage was to end before that. The widow
Locke astaken ill. Yet with unfailing reg
ularity, with feeble step and tremulous hand,
nightly, the dear woman trimmed the little
lamp, and placed it in the window. Still,
when the bended form could no longer totter
about the cottage when she lay helpless upon
the bed, and the neighbors came in to care
for her, she would say Put the little lamp in
the window iny Henry will be thinking Of it"


Night after night, and ever till her eyes
] grew dim, she would watch the radiance Of the
Pickering light, only saying sometimes, "Shall
| live to hear his footstep2 Will that fec
bic flame still burn when my lifes light has
gone out ?"


"I have onged to see him, she said; al
have prayed earnestly; but have given it all
up now shall not meet him in this world"


{" Have you put the light in the window 3"
she asked, suddenly, earnestly, few moments
after. " 1t is growing dark"


Alas it was not the light that was grow
ing dark


Her hand grew cold Over her counter.
anco came that mysterious shadow that falls
but once on any mortal face.


" Oh my boy my boy " she whispered !;
4" tell him, they bent lower to catch her fail
ing words" tell him will put light in the
window of heaven to guide his footsteps there. "


The thrilling sentence was hardly spoken,
when the shadow dropped from the sufferers
face, and it smiled in the calm majesty Of death.


A funeral followed humble hearts attend
ed the body Of one who was loved for her sin
cere goodness all through the hamlet and
on the hillside, in little grave yard, she was
buried.


Not many days after, great ship came in
to the port Of abusy city. Among those
/ who stepped from the decks, none were more
hopeful, more joyous than young Henry
Locke. He had passed through the ordeal Of
life at sea, so far unscathed. No blight of
immortality had fallen upon him. He kept
himself as spotless as if at every nightfall his
feet had been turned towards the door of his
mothers cottage. How his heart bounded as
he thought Of her Strangely enough he
never dreamed she might be dead. 1t did
not occur to him that, perhaps her silver locks
were lying under the lid Of the coffin. Oh
no he only thought of the pleasant light in
the window, that her hands had trimmed for
him. So he journeyed to his native town.
Yonder comes ono who trudges on laggingly
"a farmer in heavy boots and frock, his whip
? in his hand. lie cheers the lazy oxen but