"Good woman," said Charles, as he approached her, "your sorrows demand my sympathy—could I assist you?"
"No! no!" replied the poor widow, without raising her face; "but I thank you for your kindness. Can the grave give up its dead?"
"But why should you remain here?" said he, with emotion; "tell me, could not I assist you?" And he placed a piece of money in her hand.
"No! no!" cried the widow, bitterly, and raising her head; "oh, that Mary Lawson should have lived to be offered charity on her husband's grave!"
"My mother! Gracious heaven, my mother!" exclaimed Charles, casting his arms around her neck.
Shall we describe the scene that followed? We will not—we cannot. He had seen his father laid in the dust, he had met his mother on his father's grave——But we will not go on.
It was some weeks after this that he proceeded with his widowed mother to his native village, to wait the return of Elizabeth. Nor had he to wait; for, on the day previous to his return, Elizabeth, her son, and her father, had arrived. Charles and his parent had reached Mr Graham's—the honest farmer rushed to the door, and, hurrying both towards the house, exclaimed—
"Now, see if you can find onybody that ye ken here!"
His Elizabeth—his wife—his son—were there to meet him; the next moment she was upon his bosom, and her child clinging by her side, and gazing on his face. He alternately held both to his heart—the mother and her son. Andrew Weir took his hand—his mother wept with joy, and blessed her children. Bob Graham and his Mysie were as happy as their guests. Charles Lawson bought the farm which Andrew Weir had formerly tenanted; and, our informant adds, they live on it still.