Wondering at such simplicity and loving obedience, the father shed tears of pity and affection. Nor did he ever find the heart to explain to the loving daughter that the image she saw in the mirror was but the reflection of her own beautiful face. Thus, by the pure white bond of her filial love, each day the charming girl grew more and more like her dead mother.
A CONTRAST
[Illustration: YEARNING LOVE]
Light blue eyes:
Flaxen hair;
Rosy cheeks—
Dimples there!
These are Baby's.
Pudgy fists;
Ruddy toes;
Kissy lips—
Mother knows!
These are Baby's.
Cooing voice;
Winning smiles;
Pleading arms—
Wanton wiles!
These are Baby's.
Yearning love;
Growing fears;
Grief and worry—
All the years.
These are Mother's.
THE GOLDEN TOUCH
By Nathaniel Hawthorne
Once upon a time there lived a very rich man, and a king besides, whose name was Midas; and he had a little daughter whom nobody but myself ever heard of, and whose name I either never knew or have entirely forgotten. So, because I love odd names for little girls, I choose to call her Marygold.