If there was a better place, thought I, I wonder
would I go there when all this discord of my present life had killed
me? Besides, old Hannah had told me that I had another mother in that
vague "better place." Every night at Hannah's knee I recited a little
prayer for her, and asked her to watch over me, to guard me from evil
and make me worthy of joining her some day in her happy home. If my
"other mother" was so sweet and kind and good, as Hannah told me in
confiding whispers she was, why did she not come to me when I was in
tears and tell me how to be good like her? She was too far away, I
supposed, up among the blue sunlit clouds, where all was bright and
cheerful: an angel-mother with beautiful white wings like the picture
in Hannah's prayer-book, and a sweet smiling face that always looked
down on me, watching my words and actions. And while I thought thus, I
saw many such white-winged angels floating noiselessly about in an
exquisite confusion, and distant strains of music, as Hannah said they
sang, filled my listening ears. I felt myself being lifted gently by
tender, unseen hands, and I wondered whether they would bear me far up
above spire and tower, away from all the worries of this desolate
world, into that happy sphere beyond where all is peace, and joy, and
contentment.
On a sudden, I opened my eyelids and looked up. A cry of "Mr. Dalton!"
escaped my lips before I had met his answering glance. I had
understood the situation and buried my face upon his shoulder, to hide
the fast gathering tears that swelled into an after-flood and
threatened to deluge my already tell-tale cheeks.
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