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"Mo-ther!" came now ringing up the stairs, in a loud, screeching little voice. "Mo-ther! Hen' won't let me come up." "I declare! That boy is too bad! He's a perfect torment!" said Mrs. Laurie, fretfully. "I'm out of all heart with him." The father stepped to the head of the stairs, and spoke rather sternly to the rebellious Henry.
Good-bye, mo-ther, dear," called the boy. "W-a-i-t," came the clear, birdlike call again, and in a moment the mother came running, stood beside the boy, and followed his eye to the robin on the poplar tree. "A brave little bird," she said. "That is the way to meet the day, with a brave heart and a bright song. Goodbye, boy." She kissed him as she spoke, giving him a slight pat on the shoulder.
And if she bent over him so closely now, hung on his lips so affectionately, it was only to hear his last wish. "Mo-ther?" There was such a question in his voice. He said nothing further. He only opened his eyes once more, looked round searchingly, sighed and then expired. The sun laughed in at the windows.
In my verses I congratulated Grandmamma, wished her many happy returns, and concluded thus: "Endeavouring you to please and cheer, We love you like our Mother dear." This seemed to me not bad, yet it offended my ear somehow. "Lo-ve you li-ike our Mo-ther dear," I repeated to myself. "What other rhyme could I use instead of 'dear'? Fear? Steer? Well, it must go at that.
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