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Pagina 487 de 896

Autor: Charles Dickens

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That time passed, and her little Lucie lay on her bosom. Then,
among the advancing echoes, there was the tread of her tiny feet
and the sound of her prattling words. Let greater echoes resound
as they would, the young mother at the cradle side could always
hear those coming. They came, and the shady house was sunny with
a child's laugh, and the Divine friend of children, to whom in
her trouble she had confided hers, seemed to take her child in
his arms, as He took the child of old, and made it a sacred joy
to her.

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