part of time, thought, and heart. As she saw her first and only love,
the companion of a life which, though hard, still had the light and
solace of mutual affection--as she saw him so still, and realized that
she would hear him speak no more--_complain_ no more (for even the
weaknesses of those we love are sadly missed after death)--a flood
of that natural sorrow which Christianity consoles, but was never
designed to prevent, overwhelmed her, and she gave way utterly.

Her son took her in his arms and held her silently, believing that
unspoken sympathy was worth more at such a time than any words.

After the convulsive sobbing had somewhat ceased, he struck the right
chord by saying: "Mother, father is not lost to us. He himself said
good-by only for a little while. Then you have us to love and think
of; and remember, what could we do without you?"

The unselfish woman would have tried to rise from a bed of death to
do anything needed by her loved ones, and this reminder of those still
dependent on her care proved the most potent of restoratives. She at
once arose and said: "Dennis, you are right. It is indeed wrong for
me to give way thus, when I have so much to be thankful for--so much
to live for. But, O Dennis! you cannot understand this separation of
husband and wife, for God said, 'They twain shall be one flesh'; and
it seems as if half my very life had gone--as if half my heart had
been wrenched away, and only a bleeding fragment left."

The patter of feet was heard on the kitchen floor, the door opened,
and two little figures in white trailing nightgowns entered. At first
they looked in shy wonder and perplexity at their tall brother, whom
they had not seen for months, but at his familiar voice, recalling