One day, when Mary could not help remarking upon her pale, weary
looks, Letty burst into tears, and confided to her a secret of
which she was not the less proud that it caused her anxiety and
fear. As soon as she began to talk about it, the joy of its hope
began to predominate, and before Mary left her she might have
seemed to a stranger the most blessed little creature in the
world. The greatness of her delight made Mary sad for her. To any
thoughtful heart it must be sad to think what a little time the
joy of so many mothers lasts--not because their babies die, but
because they live; but Mary's mournfulness was caused by the fear
that the splendid dawn of mother-hope would soon be swallowed in
dismal clouds of father-fault. For mothers and for wives there is
no redemption, no unchaining of love, save by the coming of the
kingdom--_in themselves_. Oh! why do not mothers, sore-
hearted mothers at least, if none else on the face of the earth,
rush to the feet of the Son of Mary?
Yet every birth is but another link in the golden chain by which
the world shall be lifted to the feet of God. It is only by the
birth of new children, ever fresh material for the creative
Spirit of the Son of Man to work upon, that the world can finally
be redeemed. Letty had no _ideas_ about children, only the
usual instincts of appropriation and indulgence; Mary had a few,
for she recalled with delight some of her father's ways with
herself.
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