Beadle's Dime Novels No. 126: Old Jupe — page 87: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

HOME AGAIN. 89 maumy’s arms. The stage, coming into the village at eleven o’clock had set her down at the cross-street, and she had walk- ed up, in the snow_and darkness, with what strange feelings ! to the home from which she had been torn on a summer morn- ing years ago. As the bright light of the kitchen fire shone out of the window, whose paper shade Clare seldom thought to draw down, Mary approached it first, pausing there to still the wild beating of her heart. She did not wish to startle the inmates —aboye all things, she dreaded to frighten her child, lest he should not come to her, fearing that he would reject the ca- resses she was yearning to bestow Looking in, she beheld, and stood entranced, by the beautiful vision. Gone was all sense of weariness, hunger or cold; there were food, warmth and rest—there life and joy! Her boy! her beautiful babe! for two years she had been cruelly robbed of him. When she saw him last, he could not walk, and now, how he had grown ! How sweet, how healthy, how happy he looked! If she should go inand waken him, he would cry, may be, he would be afraid of her. No, she would wait until Clare had laid him in his bed. That Mrs. Bryant should be in New Bristol that Christmas Eve was as unexpected by her, one week before, as it would now prove to her family. It seemed that the chaplain and officers of the penitentiary, and many others, had been work- ing privately to obtain her release, before the expiration of her term. Her good conduct, and the need which her ehild had of her care and protection, were the grounds upon which the pardon was asked and obtained. It was intended to come into effect in time for her to reach home by Christmas; and she had been provided with means for the journey, and sent away, the very day upon which she was so unexpectedly set free. Two days and nights she had been riding over the rough winter roads; but, as she stood there, gazing in at that home from which she had been so cruelly taken, she felt nothing, for the time being, but the joy of beholding her child. Past suffering, future desolation, all were swept down by this master passion. Her husband had condemned, deserted | her, but this child was life of her life, soul of her soul. She still had something to love. comicbooks.com