A Touching Incident

International Tract and Missionary Society · Oakland, California · Aug 20, 1885

FromSigns of the Times, Vol. 11, No. 32.

A Touching Incident.

THERE are often wells of thought and feeling in childhood, of whose depths parents little dream. We are so accustomed to think of our children's tastes, desires, and will as being reflections of our own that we, too, often forget to study their natures, recognize their individuality, and treat them as sentient beings. With such reflections I listened to the relation of the following touching incident:—

A little girl of this city, about ten years of age, was visiting her aunt in the country. They were discussing a certain book, and the aunt remarked:—

"Your birthday is near, and perhaps your mamma will buy it for you for a birthday present."

A tinge of sadness rested on the sweet young face as she quickly answered:—

"She could give me something else I would rather have, something I would rather have than anything else in the world."

"I'm sure," said her aunt, "your mamma will get it for you, if it does not cost too much."

"It will not cost money," replied the child, "it will not cost anything."

But she could not then be persuaded to tell what it was. After a long time the shrinking little spirit said:—

"Aunty, I will tell you part; it is something she gave me before little brother came. It is just not to do something for that one day; now don't you know?"

The discerning aunt drew the little one to her and asked:—

"Is it that mamma should not scold you on your birthday?"

A trembling "Yes," and long the dear head rested in silence on the bosom of that loving, patient aunt.

When I heard this little incident related by that aunt herself, my heart wept, and I quickly asked myself, "Am I not that mother? Have not the cares of a growing family caused me to be often less patient with my first-born, my darling Edith? Have not I, in the multiplicity of duties, been unresponsive to the heart-longing for a mother's tender caress and loving recognition of little services rendered?"

May the reading of these little paragraphs do other mother's good as the writing of them has done me good. That mother is a pious woman. I know she loves her little daughter as tenderly as I do mine. She didn't think how each impatient word was wearing a sore in that sensitive little heart. She didn't think she was robbing her child's future of the sweet memories of a beautiful childhood. She didn't think how she was cramping the powers of a lovely spirit that needed a continual sunshine for its development. Mothers, pause and reflect.—Ex.