Ah, life had to him such an inner beauty; and, when still, dreamy moments of leisure intervened between his work and play, he revelled in such dreams of fancy, as lent light and life and joy to his whole being.  But the death of the kind father had not only carried the boy’s fancy to the other world; it was also drawing the mother’s heart away to the fair spirit-land.  Gotleib saw his mother’s face growing thin and pale; he knew that she was weak—­for oftentimes, in the long winter evenings, as he read to her from the holy word of God, her hand would drop wearily with the raised spindle, and she, who was never before idle, would fold her hands in a quiet, meek resignation.  At such times a tremour would seize the boy’s heart.  The mother saw it; and, one night, when his fixed tender gaze rested on her, she raised her spiritual eyes to his, and said,

“Dear Gotleib! thou wilt yet have the good God to love.”

“Ah, mother,! mother!” cried the boy, “wilt thou, too, leave me?”

His head was bowed upon her knees in bitter grief, the desolation of earth was spread like an impenetrable pall over his whole future.  Suddenly he looked up, full of a strange, bright hope, and said,

“Mother, I too may die.”

Then the mother put off her weakness, and long and loving was the talk she held with her dear boy.  She told him that from a little one he had ever loved God; that the first word he had ever pronounced was the name of the Holy One.  She had taught him to clasp his tiny baby hands and look up and say “God,” ere any other word had passed his lips.  She had named him Gotleib, because he was the love of God to her, and he was to be a lover of God.  As she talked, the boy grew strong and calm, and said,

“Yet, oh, my mother!  God is so great for the heart of a small child.  God is so high and lifted up in the far heavens, that I feel myself but as a tiny blade of grass that looks up to the far sun—­dear mother! the earth will be too lonely; ah, there is no hope but in death.”

“No, my son,” said the mother, “there is a beautiful hope for the earth also.  I will tell you what will make you love God more truly than ever.”

The boy was fixed attention.

“Thou didst not know, dear Gotleib, that when God created thee a strong, brave boy, He also created a tender, gentle little maiden, like unto thee in all things, save thou wert a boy and she a maiden.  Thou wert strong and able to work, and she gentle and born to love thee.”

“Where is she?” inquired the excited Gotleib.

“I know not,” replied the mother.  “But God knows, and He will watch over the two whom He has created, the one for the other; and, on earth, or in heaven, the two will meet.  Is it not better, then, not to wish to die, but to leave all things to the will of God?  For what if thy little maiden is left alone upon the earth, and there is no strong, manly heart upon which she may lean, and no vigorous arm to labour for her, how will her spirit droop with a weary, lonely sadness?  No, my son, live! and the joy of a most beautiful, loving companionship, may yet be thine.  The earth will not be desolate ever to thy orphan heart, with this beautiful hope before thee.”