"'She is married, Anna Maria, and is no longer in Europe.'
"Neither of them answered.
"'And she lays the child on your heart.'
"Then she bent over and kissed the baby, who had gone to sleep on her lap. 'Edwin,' she whispered, in a strangely faltering voice, 'this is the wedding present from my only brother!'"
So ended the manuscript. It was the third evening of the reading. The young man laid the sheets on the table and looked in the agitated face of his wife. "My mother died in America," he said. "Mother Anna Maria tied a strip of crape about my arm one day, and cried, and kissed me so often; we were living right here in Bütze then; and then we went up to Aunt Rosamond, and she cried too, and kissed me. They told me that my mother was dead, but I did not understand them, because I saw Anna Maria before me, and I did not know or care to know any mother but her."
The young wife took his hand. She was about to speak, but did not, for just then the door opened and a tall woman's figure crossed the threshold.
"Mother!" they cried, both springing up, "Mother Anna Maria!" And the young man tenderly put his arm around her and kissed her hand.
"Good evening, children," she said simply, and her eyes looked gently over to them, under the white hair.
"Oh, dearest mother, how charming of you!" cried the young wife, exultingly. "How are father and the sisters?"