Alfred stood still a moment, as if he were thinking. Then he said,
“O, papa, it must be very sad not to have a mamma! Did you never see your mother? Were you a little baby when she died?”
Then his papa told Alfred that he was not a little baby when his mother died; but that he was only five years old.
“I only remember one thing about her,” said he. “I went into her bed-room one morning, and said, ‘Mamma, will you go down stairs now?’ And she answered me, ‘In a few minutes, Arthur. Go and stand by the window until I am ready.’ Then as I stood by the window I saw my mamma kneel down by the side of her bed, and put her hands over her face. When she was done I asked her what made her cry? She answered, ‘I was not crying, my child. I was praying to God.’ That is almost all I recollect of my dear mamma, Alfred.”
“I think that was a pleasant remembrance, papa,” said little Alfred. “Perhaps your mamma then prayed for you, and maybe that is the reason why you are good now. But please tell me the story that you read when you were a little boy.”
Then Alfred’s papa told him the little story, which you will find in the next chapter.
CHAPTER XIV
THE DISOBEDIENT CHICKEN.
The poor hen did cry,