t.

"My mother had been ill a long time, and I became so accustomed to her
pale face and weak voice, that I was not frightened at them, as
children usually are. At first, it is true, I sobbed violently; but
when, day after day, I returned from school, and found her the same, I
began to believe she would always be spared to me. But they told me
she would die.

"One day, when I had lost my place in the class, and had done my work
wrong side outward, I came home discouraged and fretful. I went to my
mother's chamber. She was paler than usual, but she met me with the
same affectionate smile that always welcomed my return. Alas, when I
look back through the lapse of thirteen years, I think my heart must
have been stone not to have melted by it. She requested me to go down
stairs and bring her a glass of water. I pettishly asked why she did
not call a domestic to do it. With a look of mild reproach, which I
shall never forget, if I live to be a hundred years old, she said,
'And will not my daughter bring a glass of water for her poor sick
mother?'

"I went and brought her the water, but I did not do it kindly. Instead
of smiling and kissing her, as I was wont to do, I set the glass down
very quickly, and left the room. After playing about a short time, I
went to bed without bidding my mother good night. But when alone in
my room, in darkness and in silence, I remembered how pale she
looked, and how her voice trembled when she said, 'Will not my
daughter bring a glass of water for her poor sick mother?' I could
not, sleep. I stole into her chamber to ask forgiveness. She had sunk
into an easy slumber, and they told me I must not waken her. I did
not tell any one what troubled me, but stole back to my bed, resolved
to rise early in the morning, and tell her how sorry I was for my
conduct.

"The sun was shining brightly when I awoke: and, hurrying on my
clothes, I hastened to my mother's chamber. She was dead! She never
spoke more--never smiled upon me again and when I touched the hand
that used to rest upon my head in blessing, it was so cold that it
made me start. I bowed down by her side, and sobbed in the bitterness
of my heart. I thought then I might wish to die, and be buried with
her, and, old as I now am, I would give worlds, were they mine to
give, could my mother but have lived to tell me that she forgave my
childish ingratitude. But I cannot call her back; and when I stand by
her grave, and whenever I think