She rose trembling and smiling and took a step. She
tottered a bit, but the Boy was laughing and holding her arm. She
reached the chair by the fire and he wrapped a great skin about her feet
and limbs.
"Look, Pa, she's getting well!" the Boy shouted.
Tom watched her gravely without reply.
She took the Boy's hand, still smiling:
"I had such a wonderful dream," she began slowly--"the same one I had
before you were born, my Boy. God had answered my prayer and sent me a
son. I watched him grow to be a strong, brave, patient, wise and gentle
man. Thousands hung on his words and the great from the ends of the
earth came to do him homage. With uncovered head he led me into a
beautiful home with white pillars. And then he bowed low and whispered
in my ear: 'This is yours, my angel mother. I bought it for you with my
life. All that I am I owe to you'----"
Her voice sank to a whisper that was half a sob and half a laugh.
"See how she's smiling, Pa," the Boy cried. "She's getting well!"
"Don't ye understand!" the father whispered. "Look--at her eyes--she's
not tellin' you a dream--she's looking through the white gates of
heaven--it's Death, Boy--it's come--Lord God, have mercy!"
With a groan he dropped by her side and her thin hand rested gently on
his shaggy head.
The Boy stared at her in agonizing wonder as she felt for his hand and
feebly held it.
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