'
I remembered one night especially, in which she knelt by my bed and
prayed that she might meet her boy in the bright city, the sweet home
above the sky which was the best and brightest home of all. I wonder
what she would think of me now, I said to myself, and whether she ever
will see me there. I very much doubt it; it seems to me that I am a long
way off from Home, Sweet Home now.
My mother had died soon after that illness of mine, and I knew that she
had gone to live in that beautiful home of which she had so often spoken
to me. And I had been left behind, and my aunt, who had brought me up,
had cared for none of these things, and I had learnt to look at the
world and at life from her worldly standpoint, and had forgotten to seek
first the Kingdom of God. Oh! if my mother only knew, my pretty,
beautiful mother, I said to myself that day. And then there came the
thought, perhaps she _does_ know, and the thought made me very
uncomfortable. I wished, more than ever, that that cracked old
instrument, whatever it was, would stop.
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