usk. "And a fear doth
pain me lest my merry child hath gone from me forever. But yesterday
thou wert my little one. When first I heard thy cry, e'en though thy
cradle were a manger, it was as if angels sang, and the pressure of thy
lips against my breast brought to my heart great joy as if the glory of
the motherhood of all the ages were mine. When thou didst learn to
walk, thy baby feet made sweet music and thy wee hand on my cheek oft
drove away heartache. When thou wert older, thou went to the fields
with me. Dost thou remember the sloping hillsides red with lilies in
which thou didst roll thy body? And at the seashore--rememberest thou
the little tracks so soon washed away? And dost thou remember thy
first visit to Jerusalem and the valley of weeping where the dark
streams issued from the crags and many tombs were hewn from rocks?
Here it was we camped and thy father and I did miss thee. And dost
thou remember the questions thou wert asking when we found thee in the
Temple? Many times had thou asked them to me before. And
Nazareth--doth thy heart remember thy playmates--Jael and the others?"

"Jael? Yea, verily I remember Jael."

"Often I think of those days and remember that then, even as now, the
question oft asked was, 'Can any good thing come out of Nazareth?'"

"A cruel question and senseless. Can any good thing come out of hunger
and cold and fear of the Law?" he asked quickly.

"Ah, the long struggle--the bitter struggle that the poor know. Toiled
we not from sun to sun, yet ofttimes was our table bare of honey and
fat, and my heart ached that thy tiny garments must always be thin and
patched, that thou, my little Jesu, should be poor of the poorest."

"Poor? Nay, rich was I above all others, rich in the love of thee, my
mother! Woman, the richness of thy love hath blessed my life and
through my life, thy love shall bless the world."

There was a moment's pause. Then the woman said in tones of reverence,
"Yea, I love thee--love thee! And when thou art far away, all things
speak of thee, ofttimes with sadness. As I lay on my roof alone, the
waves that roll nightly against the near-by shore seem sobbing--ever
sobbing under the silent stars for that which can be no more. And as I
journey over the paths where once thou wert with me and thy hand lay
close in mine, the mourning dove calling from the cleft of the rock
bringeth to my heart the pain of unutterable longing for days that be
gon