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The Pamphlet Collection of Sir Robert Stout: Volume 28

November 8

To-night, for the first time, Auntie fairly gave up trying to put Faith to bed. She had insisted on it until now, crawling up by the banisters like a wounded thing. This time she tottered and sank upon the second step. She cried out, feebly: "I am afraid I must give it up to Cousin Mary. Faith!"—the child clung with both hands to her,—"Faith, Faith! Mother's little girl!"

It was the last dear care of motherhood yielded; the last link snapped. It seemed to be the very bitterness of parting. I turned away, that they might bear it together, they two alone.

Yet I think that took away the sting.