“The moon was shining silver bright.
No cloud the eye could view;
Her lover’s step, in silent night,
Well pleased, the damsel knew.”
Sometimes the blue eyes moistened as she sang, but, ere the tears fell, tender memories would modulate themselves into the tune of “Auld lang syne.” And sometimes the old mother, who sat knitting in the sunshine, would say: “Sing that again, Jenny. How my old man used to love to hear you sing it! Don’t you remember he used to say you sung like a thrush?” Jenny would smile, and say, “Yes, mother,” and sing it over again. Then, tenderly adapting herself to the old woman’s memories, she would strike into “John Anderson, my Jo,” to which her aged companion would listen with an expression of serene satisfaction. It was indeed a pleasure to listen; for Jenny’s sweet voice remained unbroken by years; its tones were as silvery as her hair. Time, the old crow, had traversed her face and left his footprints there; and the ploughshare of successive sorrows had cut deep lines into the once smooth surface; but the beauty of the soul illumined her faded countenance, as moonlight softens and glorifies ruins. When she carefully arranged the pillows of the easy-chair, the aged mother, ere she settled down for her afternoon’s nap, would often look up gratefully, and say, “Your eyes are just as good as a baby’s.” It was a pleasant sound to the dutiful daughter’s ears, and made her forget the querulous complaints in which her infirm companion sometimes indulged.
The time came when this duty was finished also; and Mrs. Frank May found herself all alone in the house, whither she had carried her sunshine thirty years before. She wrote to her daughter that, as soon as she could sell or let her little homestead, she would start for Illinois. She busied herself to hasten the necessary arrangements; for her lonely heart was longing for her only child, whose face she had not seen for seven years. One afternoon, as she sat by the window adding up accounts, her plans for the journey to meet her daughter gradually melted into loving reminiscences of her childhood, till she seemed to see again the little smiling face that had looked to her the most beautiful in all the world, and to hear again the little pattering feet that once made sweetest music in her ears. As she sat thus in reverie at the open window, the setting sun brightened the broad meadows, crowned the distant hill-tops with glory, and threw a ribbon of gold across the wall of her humble little room. The breath of lilacs floated in, and with it came memories of how her little children used to come in with their arms full of spring-blossoms, filling every mug and pitcher they could find. The current of her thoughts was interrupted by the sound of a wagon. It stopped before her house. A stranger with two little children! Who could it be? She opened the door. The stranger, taking off his hat and bowing respectfully, said, “Are you Mrs. Frank May?”
“Yes, sir,” she replied.
“Well, then,” rejoined he, “if you please, I’ll walk in, for I’ve got some news to tell you. But first I’ll bring in the children, for the little things have been riding all day, and are pretty tired.”
“Certainly, sir, bring them in and let them rest, and I will give them a cup of milk,” replied the kindly matron.
A little boy and girl were lifted from the wagon and led in. Mrs. May made an exclamation of joyful surprise. The very vision she had had in her mind a few minutes previous stood before her bodily! She took the little girl in her arms and covered her face with kisses. “Why, bless your little soul!” she exclaimed; “how much you look like my daughter Jenny!”