--that all
people have their troubles--with many other ready arguments which,
though they had little effect in calming her own distress, she hoped
would act as a solace to the disturb'd temper of the boy. And as the
half hour to which he was limited had now elaps'd, she took him by the
hand and led him to the gate, to set forth on his return. The youth
seemed pacified, though occasionally one of those convulsive sighs
that remain after a fit of weeping, would break from his throat. At
the gate he threw his arms about his mother's neck; each press'd a
long kiss on the lips of the other, and the youngster bent his steps
towards his master's house.
As her child pass'd out of sight the widow return'd, shut the gate and
enter'd her lonely room. There was no light in the old cottage that
night--the heart of its occupant was dark and cheerless. Love, agony,
and grief, and tears and convulsive wrestlings were there. The thought
of a beloved son condemned to labor--labor that would break down a
man--struggling from day to day under the hard rule of a soulless
gold-worshipper; the knowledge that years must pass thus; the
sickening idea of her own poverty, and of living mainly on the grudged
charity of neighbors--thoughts, too, of former happy days--these
rack'd the widow's heart, and made her bed a sleepless one without
repose.
The boy bent his steps to his employer's, as has been said. In his way
down the village street he had to pass a public house, the only one
the place contain'd; and when he came off against it he heard the
sound of a fiddle--drown'd, however, at intervals, by much laughter
and talking.
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