"Little one," I think I hear her saying, "how could you go on crying for your poor mother when God was mothering you all the time, and breathing life into you, and making the world a blessed place for you?
You will tell me all about it some day." Yes, and we shall tell our mothers--shall we not ?--how sorry we are that we ever gave them any trouble.

Sometimes we were very naughty, and sometimes we did not know better.

My mother was very good, but I cannot remember a single one of the many kisses she must have given me.

I remember her holding my head to her bosom when she was dying--that is all..