, little one?" said Israel.

"Yes, and noise," she answered; and then she added quickly, "Light is
alive."

Saying this, she crept closer to his side, and knelt there, and by her
old trick of love she took his hand in both of hers, and pressed it
against her cheek, and then, lifting her sweet face with its motionless
eyes she began to tell him in her broken words and pretty lisp what she
thought of night. In the night the world, and everything in it, was cold
and quiet. That was death. The angels of God came to the world in the
day. But God Himself came in the night, because He loved silence,
and because all the world was dead. Then He kissed things, and in the
morning all that God had kissed came to life again. If you were to get
up early you would feel God's kiss on the flowers and on the grass. And
that was why the birds were singing then. God had kissed them in the
night, and they were glad.

One day Israel took Naomi to the mearrah of the Jews, the little
cemetery outside the town walls where he had buried Ruth. And there he
told her of her mother once more; that she was in the grave, but also
with God; that she was dead, but still alive; that Naomi must not expect
to find her in that place, but, nevertheless, that she would see her yet
again.

"Do you remember her, Naomi?" he said. "Do you remember her in the old
days, the old dark and silent days? Not Fatimah, and not Habeebah, but
some one who was nearer to you than either, and loved you better than
both; some one who had soft hands, and smooth cheeks, and long, silken,
wavy hair--do you remember, little one?"

"Y-es, I think--I _think_ I remember," said Naomi.

"That was your mother, my darling."

"My mother?"

"Ah, you don't know what a mother is, sweetheart. How should you? And
how shall I tell you? Listen. She is the one who loves you first and
last and always. When you are a babe she suckles you and nourishes you
and fondles you, and watches for the first light of your smile, and
listens for the first accent of your tongue. When you are a young child
she plays with you, and sings to you, and tells you little stories, and
teaches you to speak. Your smile is more bright to her than sunshine,
and your childish lisp more sweet than music. If you are sick she is
beside you constantly, and when you are well she is behind you still.
Though you sin and fall and all men spurn you, yet she clings to you;
and if you do well and God prospers you, there is no