"Yes," I said; "it was my first, and then, my only one."
"Did it die suddenly?"
I bowed my head.
"Then you can pity me. Yesterday, my darling Amy was as well as ever. Her father brought in some cherries, and she begged for some. I gave her three. Oh, how she jumped and screamed with joy!"
Hero the poor mother began to cry and sob so violently that she could not speak. A young woman near tried to soothe her, and presently said, turning to me, "Poor little Amy got a cherry-stone down her windpipe, and it killed her."
"Oh, dear!" sobbed the weeping mother. "Only yesterday she was alive, and so happy; I can't go home without her! Oh, what shall I do?"
"Can't you trust her with her Savior?" I asked. "You know how he loved little children. It was very hard for me, at first; but now it comforts me to think that my baby boy is happy in heaven. He wears—"
"'A crown upon his forehead
A harp within his hand.'"
"He is clothed with spotless robes and with the choir of infant worshippers is singing praise to the Lamb forever. Doesn't it comfort you to think of Amy there?"