The mother took Maurice’s two hands in hers, and said some words in German.
“My mother says,” explained the little daughter, “that you are born with divine charity in your heart, and she prays God to lead you by the hand through your life, on the path that leads to heaven. She prays, besides, that happiness may fall on you and all who are dear to you.”
“Pray, above all,” replied my little friend, deeply touched, “that my dear father may be restored to health.”
With these words he took leave of the poor family to whom he had proved such a benefactor, and hastened home, anxious to learn how his father was going on.
“My father!—how is he?” he asked of the servant, as the door was opened.
“My master has been asking for you, sir,” replied the servant; then, seeing the tears in Maurice’s eyes, he added: “but you must not let him see you cry, or he will think he is worse than he really is.”
“The tears come to my eyes in spite of me,” replied my little friend, drying his eyes and checking his tears as well as he could.
Maurice went into his father’s room, which appeared almost dark to him. The poor invalid’s eyes were weak and could not support the light. Maurice, impressed by the silence and darkness of the room, walked as quietly as possible on tiptoe up to his mother, whom he could distinguish sitting by the side of the bed. She was praying silently to herself, but on seeing her little boy, she took him in her arms, and leant with him over his father’s bed, who pressed him to his heart.
“My child, my dear child!”
Maurice could restrain his tears no longer, and his father observed it.