She was sitting by a table, with one hand pressed over her eyes, as I entered.

'Oh, my friend! my dear friend!' she said, in a tone of grief, rising and coming a step or two to meet me.

I drew my arms around her, and she laid her head against me and sobbed three or four times, while the tears ran down and dropped upon the floor.

'It is well with her!' I said.
"'Oh, yes, my friend, it is well with her,' she answered, mournfully, 'well with her, but not with me.

How shall I walk onward in life's difficult ways, without my mother's arm to lean upon?
My steps already hesitate.' "'You have another arm to lean upon,' I ventured to suggest.
"'Yes, a strong arm upon which I can lean in unfaltering trust.