Hester was now kneeling also, with her arms round her whose arms were
about the body of her child. She did not speak to her, did not attempt a
word of comfort, but wept with her: she too had loved little Moxy! she
too had heard his dying words--glowing with reproof to her faithlessness
who cried out like a baby when her father left her for a moment in the
dark! In the midst of her loneliness and seeming desertion, God had
these people already in the house for her help! The back-door of every
tomb opens on a hill-top.
With awe-struck faces the boys looked on. They too could now see Moxy's
face. They had loved Moxy--loved him more than they knew yet.
The woman at length raised her head, and looked at Hester.
"Oh, miss, it's Moxy!" she said, and burst into a fresh passion of
grief.
"The dear child!" said Hester.
"Oh, miss! who's to look after him now?"
"There will be plenty to look after him. You don't think he who provided
a woman like you for his mother before he sent him here, would send him
there without having somebody ready to look after him?"
"Well, miss, it wouldn't be like him--I don't think!"
"It would _not_ be like him," responded Hester, with
self-accusation.
Pages:
479
480
481
482
483
484
485
486
487
488
489
490
491
492
493
494
495
496
497
498
499
500
501
502
503