Creative Books

Shaw came home that day
in her fine visiting costume, and Maud ran to welcome her with
unusual affection, she gathered up her lustrous silk and pushed the
little girl away saying, impatiently, "Don't touch me, child, your
hands are dirty." Then the thought had come to Polly that the
velvet cloak did n't cover a right motherly heart, that the fretful
face under the nodding purple plumes was not a tender motherly
face, and that the hands in the delicate primrose gloves had put
away something very sweet and precious. She thought of another
woman, whose dress never was too fine for little wet cheeks to lie
against, or loving little arms to press; whose face, in spite of many
lines and the gray hairs above it, was never sour or unsympathetic
when children's eyes turned towards it; and whose hands never
were too busy, too full or too nice to welcome and serve the little
sons and daughters who freely brought their small hopes and fears,
sins and sorrows, to her, who dealt out justice and mercy with such
wise love.


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