We did not see her becoming little then, nor sharply turn our heads when she said wonderingly how small her arms had grown.

In her happiest moments--and never was a happier woman--her mouth did not of a sudden begin to twitch, and tears to lie on the mute blue eyes in which I have read all I know and would ever care to write.

For when you looked into my mother's eyes you knew, as if He had told you, why God sent her into the world--it was to open the minds of all who looked to beautiful thoughts.

And that is the beginning and end of literature.

Those eyes that I cannot see until I was six years old have guided me through life, and I pray God they may remain my only earthly judge to the last.