CHAPTER XXIII.
“There can be no sorrow greater than this sorrow,” sobbed Ruth, as the heavy sod fell on Daisy’s little breast.
In after years, when bitterer cups had been drained to the dregs, Ruth remembered these, her murmuring words. Ah! mourning mother! He who seeth the end from the beginning, even in this blow “remembered mercy.”
“Your daughter-in-law is quite crushed by her affliction, I hear,” said a neighbor to old Mrs. Hall.
“Yes, Mrs. Jones, I think she is,” said the old lady complacently. “It has taken right hold of her.”
“It died of croup, I believe,” said Mrs. Jones.
“Well, they say so,” said the old lady. “It is my opinion the child’s death was owing to the thriftlessness of the mother. I don’t mourn for it, because I believe the poor thing is better off.”