there was sorrow in the house; there was sorrow in every heart, for the youngest child, a four-year-old boy, the joy and future hope of his parents, was dead. they had two older daughters, the eldest of whom was to be confirmed that year; sweet, good girls, they both were; but the child one has lost is always the most precious, and this was not only the youngest but the only son. it was indeed a heavy affliction. the sisters grieved as the young grieve, awed by the sorrow of their parents; the father's head bowed in grief; but most of all the mother suffered.
night and day she had cared for the sick child, nursed it, carried it with her, guarded it constantly until it was a part of herself. she could not conceive that he was dead, that he should be laid in a coffin and rest in a dark grave. god would never take her child from her, she thought; when it happened, however, and was a certainty, she cried aloud in her agony, "god had known nothing of this! he has heartless servants here upon earth; they do as they like and pay no heed to the prayers of a mother!"
in her grief she turned from god, and then came dark thoughts, thoughts of death, everlasting death- that human beings became earth in the earth and that all was over.
her words were bitter, for her heart was black with despair. there were hours when she could not even find solace of tears; she had no thought for her young daughters; she never looked up at her husband when his tears fell on her hot forehead; her thoughts were all with her dead child; her mind could recall only cherished memories of him-his winning ways, his innocent, childish prattle.
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