Then Ruth would snatch
up the dropped work, and stitch away with drooping eyes, from
which the hot tears fell fast; and Miss Benson was then angry
with herself, yet not at all inclined to agree with Sally when
she asked her mistress "why she kept 'mithering' the poor lass
with asking her for ever what was the matter, as if she did not
know well enough." Some element of harmony was wanting--some
little angel of peace, in loving whom all hearts and natures
should be drawn together, and their discords hushed. The earth
was still "hiding her guilty front with innocent snow," when a
little baby was laid by the side of the pale, white mother. It
was a boy; beforehand she had wished for a girl, as being less
likely to feel the want of a father--as being what a mother,
worse than widowed, could most effectually shelter. But now she
did not think or remember this. What it was, she would not have
exchanged for a wilderness of girls. It was her own, her darling,
her individual baby, already, though not an hour old, separate
and sole in her heart, strangely filling up its measure with love
and peace, and even hope. For here was a new, pure, beautiful,
innocent life, which she fondly imagined, in that early passion
of maternal love, she could guard from every touch of corrupting
sin by ever watchful and most tender care. And her mother had
thought the same, most probably; and thousands of others think
the same, and pray to God to purify and cleanse their souls, that
they may be fit guardians for their little children.
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