"It is her voice," she said; "yes, her voice—the baby that I held when she was christened."
Then I touched some of the chords of early days, and they vibrated truly and lovingly. Sunlight came again over that wintry face. The Book of God was dear to her, and the Saviour who had led her with his flock many years beside the still waters.
I knew that I should see her no more in this life, for the mark of the Better Land was upon her. That I remember her still with tenderness, is but a fitting tribute to one who, in honesty of purpose and consistent goodness, was a model for that class of persons on whose aid the comfort of domestic life so essentially depends. Often, when, like my sister housekeepers of this section of our Union, I have been annoyed by the habits of those whom we call helps, and who are sometimes hindrances—annoyed by their want of principle, their pretending to understand what they never knew, their leaving suddenly after having been laboriously instructed, or staying when confidence had ceased, my thoughts have recurred to the efficiency, the integrity of this relic of the olden time, in whom the hearts of those whom she served safely trusted.
Humble, venerable friend, farewell. "Faithful over a few things," we believe that thou hast entered "into the joy of thy Lord."
