I was tranquiller, and told her 'twarn't no use to worry
so,
And onclasped her arms from round his neck round mine
--and let him go!
I felt a little bitter feelin' foolin' round about
The aidges of my conscience; but I didn't let it out;--
I simply retch out, trimbly-like, and tuk the boy's hand,
And though I didn't say a word, I knowed he'd under-
stand.
And--well!--sence then the old home here was mighty
lonesome, shore!
With me a-workin' in the field, and Mother at the door,
Her face ferever to'rds the town, and fadin' more and
more--
Her only son nine miles away, a-clerkin' in a store!
The weeks and months dragged by us; and sometimes the
boy would write
A letter to his mother, sayin' that his work was light,
And not to feel oneasy about his health a bit--
Though his business was confinin', he was gittin' used
to it.
And sometimes he would write and ast how _I_ was gittin'
on,
And ef I had to pay out much fer he'p sence he was gone;
And how the hogs was doin', and the balance of the stock,
And talk on fer a page er two jest like he used to talk.
And he wrote, along 'fore harvest, that he guessed he
would git home,
Fer business would, of course, be dull in town.
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