They had no children of their own, and had felt the need for years of a
willing, nimble-footed youngster to do the odd chores about the house,
such as milking cows, cutting and bringing in wood, running of errands,
and the scores of odd little jobs which are easy enough for boys, but
sorely try the stiff and rheumatic limbs of a man in the decline of
life.
Bush was a healthy little fellow--not very strong for his years, but
quick of movement, bright-witted, willing, and naturally a general
favorite. The misfortunes which suddenly overtook his home roused the
keenest sympathy of his neighbors. His father was a merchant in New
York, who went to and from the metropolis each week day morning and
evening, to his pleasant little home in New Jersey. One day his
lifeless body was brought thither, and woe and desolation came to the
happy home. He was killed in a railway accident.
The blow was a terrible one, and for weeks it seemed as if his stricken
widow would follow him across the dark river; but her Christian
fortitude and her great love for their only child sustained her in her
awful grief, and she was even able to thank her Heavenly Father that
her dear boy was spared to her.
But how true it is that misfortunes rarely come singly. Her husband
had amassed a competency sufficient to provide comfortably for those
left behind; but his confidence in his fellow-men was wofully betrayed.
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