Walter Harland | Page 7

Charley said: 'Mother, we are very
sorry to leave you, but we must go. I don't know what we have done
that father should treat us so; he seems almost to hate the sight of us,
and it is better that we should go before his harshness provokes us to
some act of rebellion. I am older than Reuben, and will do my best to

care for him, and we will never forget you, mother; but I believe it to be
for the best that we should leave home.' I had long feared this; and I
begged of them to stay and try and bear it, at any rate till they should be
older; but talking was of no use, the boys had made up their minds, and
go they would. They each took a change of clothing in a small bundle,
and prepared to leave the home which had sheltered them from their
infancy. When I saw they would go, I divided the little money I had of
my own between them that they might not go forth into the world
entirely destitute. I could not really blame the boys, for their father's
harsh words, day by day, was like the continual dropping which wears
the stone, and the poor boys were fairly tired and worn out with being
continually censured and blamed. With a heart heavy with a sorrow
which only a mother can know, I walked with the boys to the turn of
the road where they were to wait for the stage. I felt sorrowful enough
but I kept back my tears till the hour sounded which announced the
arrival of the stage. They both shook hands with me and kissed me, and
poor Reuben, the youngest, cried as if his heart would break.
"The sight of my youngest boy's tears affected me beyond the power of
control, and the tears were very bitter which we all shed together, but
the stage was fast approaching, and we must control our grief, 'Good
bye, mother,' said the boys at last as they left me to take their places in
the stage coach, 'Don't fret about us; we will try to do right and
remember all you have said to us, and let us hope there are happier days
to come, for us all.'
"These were their last words to me, and they were swiftly borne from
my sight by the fleet horses of the stage-coach. This was five years ago
last October." "But did they never come back," said I, looking in the
old woman's face with a feeling of deep pity. "Bless you child, no,"
said she, "their father won't allow even their names to be spoken in his
hearing. When the boys left home, they went to the State of
Massachusetts, where they both learned a trade, and are doing well;
they often write to me and send me money to buy any little thing I may
want. About two years ago in one of their letters they asked me to talk
to their father, and try to persuade him to forgive them; they also
wished to gain his consent that they might return home for a visit, 'for,'

said they, 'since we have grown up to manhood it has caused us much
sorrow that we must live estranged from our father. Mother, we have
long since cast aside the boyish resentment we may once have
cherished, and would be glad to return and inform our father by word
that we still feel for him the affection due from children to parents; we
would gladly forget the past and be at peace for the future.' I feared to
speak of this letter to my husband, but the strong desire to see my dear
boys again gave me courage, and one day when he seemed in a better
humour than usual I mustered up courage, and told him what the boys
had written, but my sakes' alive, Walter, if you'd a seen the storm it
raised in our house; it fairly took my breath away, and I didn't know for
a while, Walter, if my head was off or on; you may think you have seen
Mr. Judson angry, but you never saw him any thing like what he was
that day. I must not repeat all he said, to you, but he concluded by
saying: 'The boys went away without my consent; you connived to get
them off, and if ever you mention their names to me again you'll wish
you hadn't, that's all;' and from that day to this their names have never
been mentioned between us. They still write often to me and some day
I'll show you their letters. I suppose it was wrong for me to speak so
freely to you (who are