“Yes; I was just thinking of it.”
“We liked that name for him so much, it made his father think more of him; he would watch him asleep in the cradle, and say, ‘Well, that is a pictur’ child, if ever there was one.’ I never had nothing so good belonging to me before, and I never shall again.”
“Do you remember a little while ago,” I remarked in reply, “when the weather was so cold, telling me you feared the baby suffered for want of warmer clothes than you were able to procure for him, and that the coarse food, which was all you could get, did not agree with him?”
“Yes, I mind; he made me feel how bad it was to be poor. I never cared about it so much before.”
“Supposing I had promised to take the baby into my house, and surround him with every comfort, and care for him as for one of my own children, would you have given him up to me?”
“Why—yes—I think I should, if I could have seen him very often; for nothing troubled me so much as to see him suffer.”
“If I had taken him you would still have had to see him suffer; for though I might have made him more comfortable than you could, I could not have shielded him from the attacks of disease and death, But he is gone now to a home where he will never suffer any more. The kind hand of his heavenly Father has wiped away the tears that distressed you so much. As the Scotch song says—
“‘There’s nae sorrow there, Jean;
There’s neither cauld nor care, Jean;
The day is aye fair, Jean,
In the land o’ the leal.’”
As soon as the mother could speak again for her tears, she said—
“Do you think, ma’am, he is gone there for certain? ’cause some of ’em have been saying to-day that nobody goes to heaven, not even babes, except they are ’lected.”