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Ewell, Martha Lewis Beckwith, 1841-1902

"The Harvest of Years"


There were two sums of money left in trust with us, and in her dear,
good way she had made us wondrously grateful to her for the faith she
had reposed in us; a deed of some of her land, which the street had cut
into, which she desired us to use for some one who was needy, unless we
ourselves needed it; and in the last sentences of her message to us she
said:
"If ever anybody belongin' to me comes in your path, give 'em a lift. I
can trust you to do it, and the Lord will spare your lives, I know.
Don't tell any livin' soul, Emily." This was a sacred message to both
Louis and myself, and I should feel it sacrilege to write it all out
here, even though I much desire to.
Dear Aunt Hildy! when we essayed to thank her, she said:
"There, there, don't say a word; I've allus said I'd be my own
executioner, (I did not correct her mistake), and I know that's the way.
You see, some day I'll go out like a candle, for all my mother's folks
died that way, so I want to be ready. The other side of the house live
longer, more pity for it too. They've handed down more trouble than you
know, but I aint like one of 'em; it's my mother I belong to."
It seemed to me now that the years went like days and the first five
after our marriage, that ended with the summer of 1851, were filled for
the most part with pleasant cares. I was still my mother's girl, and
helped about the house as always before. Of course, some sorrows came to
us in these years, for changes cannot be perfectly like clear glass.


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