After that hour she spent the long spring days lying on the old
couch in his room, reading his books, thinking of his love and life,
and listening to "David's voice." She always heard it now, whether
the wind touched the flute with airy fingers or it hung mute; and it
sung to her songs of patience, hope, and cheer, till a mysterious
peace carne to her, and she discovered in herself the strength she
had asked, yet never thought to find. Under the snow, herbs of grace
had been growing silently; and, when the heavy rains had melted all
the frost away, they sprung up to blossom beautifully in the sun
that shines for every spire of grass, and makes it perfect in its
time and place.
Mrs. Wilkins was right; for one June morning, when she laid "that
blessed baby" in its mother's arms, Christie's first words were:
"Don't let me die: I must live for baby now," and gathered David's
little daughter to her breast, as if the soft touch of the fumbling
hands had healed every wound and brightened all the world.
"I told you so; God bless 'em both!" and Mrs. Wilkins retired
precipitately to the hall, where she sat down upon the stairs and
cried most comfortable tears; for her maternal heart was full of a
thanksgiving too deep for words.
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