21 lines
1.3 KiB
Text
21 lines
1.3 KiB
Text
The Shroud
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There was once a mother who had a little boy of seven years old, who
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was so handsome and lovable that no one could look at him without
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liking him, and she herself worshipped him above everything in the
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world. Now it so happened that he suddenly became ill, and God took him
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to himself; and for this the mother could not be comforted, and wept
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both day and night. But soon afterwards, when the child had been
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buried, it appeared by night in the places where it had sat and played
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during its life, and if the mother wept, it wept also, and when morning
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came it disappeared. As, however, the mother would not stop crying, it
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came one night, in the little white shroud in which it had been laid in
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its coffin, and with its wreath of flowers round its head, and stood on
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the bed at her feet, and said, “Oh, mother, do stop crying, or I shall
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never fall asleep in my coffin, for my shroud will not dry because of
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all thy tears, which fall upon it.” The mother was afraid when she
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heard that, and wept no more. The next night the child came again, and
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held a little light in its hand, and said, “Look, mother, my shroud is
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nearly dry, and I can rest in my grave.” Then the mother gave her
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sorrow into God’s keeping, and bore it quietly and patiently, and the
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child came no more, but slept in its little bed beneath the earth.
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