Page:The Father Confessor, Stories of Danger and Death.djvu/88

78 followed his father's steps in the deadly monotony of office work. And then the mother was told to take him home—that he was a dreamer and would not work.

The woman sat before him that night and wept more bitter tears than she had at her husband's death.

"I wonder," she sobbed, "if children ever realize how much their mothers sacrifice for their sakes? Can you not think of the long years I have worked for my children? I was young when you came to me, Henry,—only a girl,—but I had to give up pleasure and amusement, and sew for you, and stint for you, and work so hard. I had to rise early and sleep late; I had to wash, and scrub, and iron, till my hands grew red and my hair white. Oh! I loved pleasure as much as you do, and could have idled my time when I was young; but for your sake I did not. And for me, now that I have reared you, you will do nothing to assist. Your poor father was no help in rearing my children; he had no sympathy with them, and thrust it all on me. He was always engrossed in his business, as was right; but he might have seen how the burden of poverty and