than a week, when I saw him kiss the patch-work. I
thought he might be wandering, or if not, had found a text of hope or
consolation that seemed to suit his need, and marked with my eye the
place he had kissed, to see what it was. It was no text, but a calico
block, the pattern a little crimson leaf on a dark ground. He kept
looking at it, with tears in his eyes, and I was almost sure his mind
was wandering. Nay, he was never more in his right mind, and his
thoughts were at home with his mother. A bit of the gown he had so
often seen her wear had carried him back to her. He kissed it again. I
approached him. He looked up, and smiled through his tears.

"'Do you know where this quilt came from?' he asked. 'Some good woman
sent it to us through the Sanitary Commission.' 'You don't know her
name, nor where it came from?' 'No, but I saved a note that was pinned
to the quilt.' 'Would you be willing to let me see it some time when
it is convenient?' 'Oh, yes. I'll get it now.' I got it for him; his
hand trembled, and his lips grew white as he opened it and saw the
writing. 'Please read it to me quite slowly,' he said, returning it. I
read it. 'It is from my mother; shall you keep it?' 'Yes,' I answered,
'I value it very much, and also the quilt.' He put his hands over his
eyes. I thought he wished to be alone, and left him. As I stood by his
bed the next day, I was wondering if he had not seen his mother's
texts, as well as the bit of her gown. He had, and pointed one out to
me. It was, 'Father, I have sinned against heaven and in thy sight,
and am no more worthy to be called thy son.' 'I am no more worthy,' he
whispered. I put my finger on the next white block, and read aloud,
'When he was yet a great way off, his father saw him, and had
compassion, and ran and fell on his neck, and kissed him.' As I looked
up, I saw there were tears upon his cheeks, and his lips were
tremulous. He covered his eyes, and I left him. A few days after, when
he had grown much stronger, he held up to me the text I had shown him.
'I was a great way off,' he said, 'but He has met me and had
compassion on me.' 'You feel the Saviour's love?' 'It fills me with
peace. What love! What a Saviour!' 'Shall I not write to your mother
and tell her that her son, who was dead, is alive again; was lost, and
is found?' 'Will it not be too much trouble?' 'Oh, no, a pleasure
instead.' I wrote the blessed tidings, making the mother's heart
rejoice. And now our Scr