A Little Mother to the Others
Iris' heart grew quiet. Her cup of bliss was quite full. She scarcely touched her tea; she was too happy even to eat.
"Have you had enough tea, mother?" she asked presently.
"Yes, darling. Please push the tea-table a little aside, and then come up very near to me. I want to hold your dear little hand in mine; I can't talk much."
"But you are better--you are surely better, mother?"
"In one sense, yes, Iris."
Iris moved the tea-table very deftly aside, and then, drawing up her small chair, slipped her hand inside her mother's.
"I have made up my mind to tell you, Iris," said the mother. She looked at the little girl for a full minute, and then began to talk in a low, clear voice. "I am the mother of four children. I don't think there are any other children like you four in the wide world. I have thought a great deal about you, and while I have been ill have prayed to God