Sarah--if I can't have my own about me, I'll have no others,"
she said, and I thought I saw what she meant and said no more.

That night the doctor and the legal gentleman that looked after the
family affairs were with us and my mistress kept them for dinner. I
helped Hodges with the serving and was in the butler's pantry after
Mrs. Childress had left them with their coffee and cigars, and as
Hodges had left the door ajar I couldn't help catching a bit of the
talk now and then.

"The worst of it is this trouble about the children," said the doctor.
"She will grieve herself into a decline, I'm afraid."

"I suppose there's no hope?" said the other gentleman.

"No hope?" the doctor burst out. "Why, man, Robertson's been dead six
months!"

"To be sure--I'd forgotten it was so long. Well, well, it's too bad,
too bad," and Hodges came back and closed the door.

I must say I was thoroughly put out with the doctor. Why should he
have told me a lie? And it was mostly from that that I deliberately
disobeyed him that night, for I knew from the way he had spoken to the
nurse that he didn't wish the children mentioned. But I couldn't help
it, for when I came to her room to see if I could help her, she was
sitting in her black bedroom gown with her long hair in two braids,
crying over the children's picture. "Hush, hush, ma'am," I said,
kneeling by her and soothing her head, "if they were here, you may be
sure they wouldn't wish it."

"Who? Who?" she answers me, quite wild, but not angry at all. I saw
this and spoke it out boldly, for it was plain that she liked me.

"Your children, ma'am," I said, softly but very firm, "and you should
control yourself and be cheerful and act as if they _were_ here--as if
it had pleased God to let you have them and not _Himself_!"

Such a look as she gave me! But soon she seemed to melt, like, and put
out her arm over my shoulders.

"What a beautiful way to put it, Sarah!" says she, in a dreamy kind of
way. "Do you really think God has them--somewhere?"

"Why, of course, ma'am," said I, shocked in good earnest. "Who else?"

"Then you think I might love them, just as if--just as if----" here she
began to sob.

"Why, Mrs. Childress," I said, "where is your belief? That's all
that's left to mothers. I know, for I've lost two, and their father to
blame for it, which you need never say," I told her.

She patted my shoulder very kindly. "But oh, Sarah, if only they
_were_ h