A MOTHER sat
by her little child; she was very sad, for she feared it would die. It was
quite pale, and its little eyes were closed, and sometimes it drew a heavy deep
breath, almost like a sigh; and then the mother gazed more sadly than ever on
the poor little creature. Some one knocked at the door, and a poor old man
walked in. He was wrapped in something that looked like a great horse-cloth;
and he required it truly to keep him warm, for it was cold winter; the country
everywhere lay covered with snow and ice, and the wind blew so sharply that it
cut one’s face. The little child had dozed off to sleep for a moment, and the
mother, seeing that the old man shivered with the cold, rose and placed a small
mug of beer on the stove to warm for him. The old man sat and rocked the
cradle; and the mother seated herself on a chair near him, and looked at her
sick child who still breathed heavily, and took hold of its little hand.
“You think I
shall keep him, do you not?” she said. “Our all-merciful God will surely not
take him away from me.”
