And the last lines are entirely hers. She had learned to imitate my letters; and when I was tired and sleepy, she finished my work for me. My sainted mother!”
And he kissed the page.
“See here,” said the teacher, showing him the other packages; “these are my mementoes. Each year I laid aside one piece of work of each of my pupils; and they are all here, dated and arranged in order. Every time that I open them thus, and read a line here and there, a thousand things recur to my mind, and I seem to be living once more in the days that are past. How many of them have passed, my dear sir! I close my eyes, and I see behind me face after face, class after class, hundreds and hundreds of boys, and who knows how many of them are already dead! Many of them I remember well. I recall distinctly the best and the worst: those who gave me the greatest pleasure, and those who caused me to pass sorrowful moments; for I have had serpents, too, among that vast number! But now, you understand, it is as though I were already in the other world, and I love them all equally.”
He sat down again, and took one of my hands in his.
“And tell me,” my father said, with a smile, “do you recall any of my roguish tricks?”
“Of yours, sir?” replied the old man, also with a smile. “No; not just at this moment. But that does not in the least mean that you never played any. However, you had good judgment; you were serious for your age. I remember your mother's great love for you. But it is very kind and courteous of you to
