, and softly played with my
lips--and at times she strained me so hard to her breast that I near
complained of the embrace--and I was no more driven off to bed when my
eyes grew heavy, but let lie in her arms, while we sat silent, rocking,
rocking, until long, long after I had fallen asleep. And once, at the
end of a sweet, strange hour, making believe to play, she gently pried
my eyes wide open and looked far into their depths--so deep, so long, so
searchingly, so strangely, that I waxed uneasy under the glance.

"Wh-wh-what--what you----" I began, inarticulately.

"What am I looking for?" she interrupted, speaking quickly.

"Ay," I whimpered, for I was deeply agitated; "what you lookin' for?"

"For your heart," said she.

I did not know what she meant; and I wondered concerning the fancy she
had, but did not ask, for there was that in her voice and eyes that made
me very solemn.

"'Tis but a child's heart," she sighed, turning away. "'Tis but like the
hearts," she whispered, "of all children. I cannot tell--I cannot tell,"
she sobbed, "and I want--oh, I want so much--to know!"

"Don't cry!" I pleaded, thrown into an agony by her tears, in the way of
all children.

She sat me back in her lap. "Look in your mother's eyes, lad," said she,
"and say after me this: 'My mother----'"

"'My mother----'" I repeated, very soberly.

"'Looked upon my heart----'"

"'Looked upon my heart----'" said I.

"'And found it brave----'"

"'An' found it brave----'"

"'And sweet----'"

"'An' sweet----'"

"'Willing for the day's work----'" said she.

"'Willing for the day's work----'" I repeated.

"'And harbouring no shameful hope.'"

"'An' harbouring--no shameful--hope.'"

Again and again she had me say it--until I knew it every word by heart.

"Ah," said she, at last, "but you'll forget!"

"No, no!" I cried. "I'll not forget. 'My mother looked upon my heart,'"
I rattled, "'an' found it brave an' sweet, willing for the day's work
an' harbouring no shameful hope.' I've not forgot! I've _not_ forgot!"

"He'll forget," she whispered, but not to me, "like all children."

But I have not forgotten--I have not forgotten--I have never
forgotten--that when I was a child my mother looked upon my heart and
found it brave and sweet, willing for the day's work and harbouring no
shameful hope.

* * * * *

The winter fell early and with ominous severity. Our bleak coast was
soon too bitter wit