The pity of it all, the pathetic humor of it, there was none to see;
they themselves were unconscious of it. Often their tears fell
upon the notes and spoiled them; sometimes a single misformed word
made a note risky which could have been ventured but for that;
but at last Hannah produced one whose script was a good enough
imitation of Helen's to pass any but a suspicious eye, and bountifully
enriched it with the petting phrases and loving nicknames that
had been familiar on the child's lips from her nursery days.
She carried it to the mother, who took it with avidity, and kissed it,
and fondled it, reading its precious words over and over again,
and dwelling with deep contentment upon its closing paragraph:
"Mousie darling, if I could only see you, and kiss your eyes,
and feel your arms about me! I am so glad my practicing does not
disturb you. Get well soon. Everybody is good to me, but I am
so lonesome without you, dear mamma."
"The poor child, I know just how she feels. She cannot be quite
happy without me; and I--oh, I live in the light of her eyes!
Tell her she must practice all she pleases; and, Aunt Hannah
--tell her I can't hear the piano this far, nor hear dear voice
when she sings: God knows I wish I could. No one knows how sweet
that voice is to me; and to think--some day it will be silent!
What are you crying for?"
"Only because--because--it was just a memory.
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