Heaven, and in her robe of rich,
stiff brocade she was like some great Saint. But what seemed to me more
heavenly than all the rest was her rose and white young face, and the
sweet mouth which I had touched with my lips. Oh if I had but once had
the happiness of kissing that mouth in life! A sudden feeling glowed in
my heart, and an inward voice told me that a thousand kisses from Cousin
Maud would never be worth one single kiss from that lovely young mother,
and that I had indeed lost almost as much as my pitying friends had said.
And I could not help sorrowing, weeping for a long time; I felt as though
I had lost just what was best and dearest, and for the first time I saw
that my good cousin was right ugly as other folks said, and my silly
little head conceived that a real mother must be fair to look upon, and
that however kind any one else might be she could never be so gracious
and lovable.

And so I fell asleep; and in my dreams the picture came towards me out of
the frame and took me in her arms as Madonna takes her Holy Child, and
looked at me with a gaze as if all the love on earth had met in those
eyes. I threw my arms round her neck and waited for her to fondle and
play with me like Mistress Stromer with her little Clare; but she gently
and sadly shook her head with the golden crownlet, and went up to Cousin
Maud and set me in her lap.

"I have never forgot that dream, and often in my prayers have I lifted up
my heart to my sainted mother, and cried to her as to the blessed Virgin
and Saint Margaret, my name-saint; and how often she has heard me and
rescued me in need and jeopardy! As to my cousin, she was ever dearer to
me from that night; for had not my own mother given me to her, and when
folks looked at me pitifully and bewailed my lot, I could laugh in my
heart and think: 'If only you knew! Your children have only one mother,
but we have two; and our own real mother is prettier than any one's,
while the other, for all that she is so ugly, is the best.'"

It was the compassion of folks that first led me to such thoughts, and as
I grew older I began to deem that their pity had done little good to my
young soul. Friends are ever at hand to comfort every job; but few are
they who come to share his heaviness, all the more so because all men
take pleasure in comparing their own fair lot with the evil lot of
others. Compassion--and I am the last to deny it--is a noble and right
healing grace; but those who a