"Five boys," moaned the poor broken-hearted mother,--"nobody to take
care of them, nobody to do for them, no comforts, no mother, and now no
grave!"
'Twas touching to see her husband trying to console her. Her favorite
seat was in one corner of the hard, old-fashioned settee. There she
would sit, swaying herself to and fro, whispering sometimes to herself,
"Deep waters! deep waters!"
The old man would sit close up to her, and say, softly,--
"Now, mother, don't! I wouldn't take on. You know he isn't there. Look
up. Don't forget God!"
Poor old man! 'Twas hard for him to look up, with so much to draw him
down. But I don't think he ever forgot God.
A little before sunset, one afternoon, a few weeks after the sad news of
David's death had reached us, Mary Ellen came out to where I was sitting
under the lilacs, and asked if I couldn't move Emily into her own room
for a little while.
"Is she able?" I asked.
"I don't know what has come over her," she replied, "she seems so
strong. For a long time I thought her asleep, but all at once she spoke
out clear and loud, and said, 'I want to see his grave.
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