Cornelia was the joy and pride of her parents, for she was a slender, graceful little creature, darting about like a young fawn, and her cheeks were as fresh and blooming as the young rose when it first opens to receive the dew.  Added to this, she was blessed with a temper as sweet and serene as a spring morning when it dawns upon the blooming valleys, announcing a fair and delightful day.

Cornelia had never in her life known what it is to experience trouble and anxiety, for her youth had been all brightness and sunshine.  But such freedom from all trials does not generally continue for a long time uninterrupted.  And so it was with Cornelia.  She was one day very much delighted at being shown a little brother with which her mother had presented her, but her joy was soon clouded by the severe illness of that mother.  She lay many long days without noticing or appearing to know her little Cornelia, for her fever was strong, and her senses were continually wandering.

Cornelia was almost heart-broken at this, and they could scarcely persuade her to leave the bedside of her dear mother, for a single moment.  She would entreat and implore until she won their consent that she should remain in the sick room; and then all night long would the affectionate little girl watch by her mother’s bed, and attentively study her every want, wetting her parched lips and moving around her with the lightest and most anxious footsteps.

On the seventh day of her sickness the fever approached its crisis and there was deep silence in the little chamber, and stifled weeping, for every one thought that death was near.

But with the night came long absent slumber, and revived the almost dying mother, and seemed to give her back to life.  What a season for Cornelia!  Through the whole night she sat by the bed listening to her now soft and regular breathing, while hope and fear were struggling together in her bosom.  When daylight appeared the mother opened her eyes, and turning them upon the anxious Cornelia, knew her.  “I am better, my child,” said she in a clear, but feeble voice, “I am better, and shall get well!” They then gave her drink and nourishment, and she went to sleep again.

What joy was this for the affectionate little girl!  Her heart was too full for utterance, and she stole softly out of the chamber, and skipped out into the field, and ascended a hill near by, just as the sun was dawning.  Here she stood her hands clasped together, and her bosom swelling with many contending emotions of pain and hope.  Presently the sun arose and streamed over her face, and Cornelia thought of the new life of her mother after her reviving sleep, and the anguish of her own feelings.  But she could not long shut up the flood of feeling within her own heart, and she knelt down upon blooming flowers with which the hill was covered, and bowing her face to the fragrant sod, her tears were mingled with the dew of heaven.