l help you across, if you wish to go_."]

SOMEBODY'S MOTHER

The woman was old, and ragged and gray,
And bent with the chill of a winter's day;

The street was wet with recent snow,
And the woman's feet were aged and slow,

She stood at the crossing, and waited long,
Alone, uncared for amid the throng

Of human beings who passed her by,
Nor heeded the glance of her anxious eye.

Down the street with laugh and shout,
Glad in the freedom of "school is out,"

Came the boys like a flock of sheep,
Hailing the snow piled white and deep.

Past the woman so old and gray
Hastened the children on their way,

Nor offered a helping hand to her,
So meek, so timid, afraid to stir

Lest the carriage wheels or the horses' feet
Should crowd her down in the slippery street.

At last came out of the merry troop
The gayest laddie of all the group;

He paused beside her, and whispered low,
"I'll help you across, if you wish to go."

Her aged hand on his strong young arm
She placed, and so, without hurt or harm,

He guided the trembling feet along,
Proud that his own were firm and strong.

Then back again to his friends he went,
His young heart happy and well content.

"She's somebody's mother, boys, you know,
For all that she's aged and poor and slow;

"And I hope some fellow will lend a hand
To help _my_ mother, you understand,

"If ever she's poor and old and gray,
When her own dear boy is far away."

And "somebody's mother" bowed low her head
In her home that night, and the prayer she said

Was, "God be kind to the noble boy,
Who is somebody's son and pride and joy!"

[Illustration: _The Grist Mill_]

WAITING FOR THE GRIST

It is impossible to measure the influence which may be exerted by a
single act, a word, or even a look. It was the simple act of an entire
stranger that changed the course of my whole life.

When I was a boy, my father moved to the Far West--Ohio. It was before
the days of steam, and no great mills thundered on her river banks, but
occasionally there was a little gristmill by the side of some small
stream.

To these little mills, the surrounding neighborhood flocked with their
sacks of corn. Sometimes we had to wait two or three days for our turn.
I was generally the one sent from our house, for, while I was too small
to be of much account on the farm, I was as good as a man to carry a
grist t