I cannot tell you my agony as I looked upon her,—my remorse was tenfold more bitter from the thought that she never would know it. I believed myself to be her murderer. I fell on the bed beside her; I could not weep. My heart burned within me; my brain was on fire. My sister threw her arms around me and wept in silence. Suddenly we saw a motion of mother's hand; her eyes unclosed. She had recovered her consciousness, but not her speech.
"Mother, mother!" I shrieked; "say only that you forgive me."
She could not speak, but her hand pressed mine. She looked upon me, and lifting her thin, white hands, she clasped my own within them, and cast her eyes upward. She moved her lips in prayer, and thus died. I remained kneeling beside that dear form till my sister removed me; but the joy of youth had left me forever.
Boys who spurn a mother's counsel, who are ashamed to own that they are wrong, who think it manly to resist her authority, or yield to her influence, beware. One act of disobedience may cause a blot that a life-time can not wipe out. Wrong words and wrong actions make wounds that leave their scars.
Be warned; subdue the first rising of temper, and give not utterance to the bitter thought. Shun the fearful effects of disobedience. Lay not up for yourselves sad memories for future years.
STAND BY THE SHIP
"Do, grandmother, tell us about the little drummer boy whose motto was, 'Stand by the ship.'"