October 17.
“The Lord God a’mighty help us! but His ways are past finding out. What
with one thing and another thing, that child without a mother, and you
with the crape not yet rusty for Mr. Roy’l, it doos seem to me as if His
manner of treating folks beats all! But I tell you this, Miss Mary, my
dear; you jest say your prayers reg’lar and _stick to Him_, and He’ll
pull you through, sure!”
This was what Phœbe said when I told her.
November 8.
To-night, for the first time, Auntie fairly gave up trying to put Faith
to bed. She had insisted on it until now, crawling up by the banisters
like a wounded thing. This time she tottered and sank upon the second
step. She cried out, feebly; “I am afraid I must give it up to Cousin
Mary. Faith!”--the child clung with both hands to her,--“Faith, Faith!
Mother’s little girl!”
It was the last dear care of motherhood yielded; the last link snapped.
It seemed to be the very bitterness of parting.