Then he knelt down beside his
wife in the falling rain, and lifted her gently, calling her by her
name, "Sophy! Sophy!" But her heavy head fell back again upon the grave,
and he was not strong enough to raise her from it. He burst into tears,
a passion of tears; such as men only weep in hours of extreme anguish of
mind. Slowly his people melted away, helpless to do anything for him;
except two or three of his most familiar friends, who stayed to assist
him in taking the wretched wife back to her home.
Ann Holland lingered unseen in the porch until all were out of sight.
The child she loved so fondly was standing with the great door ajar,
holding it with his small hand, and peeping out now and then. She called
to him when all were gone, and he came out of the church gladly, yet
with an air of concern on his round, rosy face.
"My mother is ill, very ill," he said, putting his hand into hers. "I
saw her lying on baby's grave. Couldn't anything be done for her to make
her well? Isn't there any doctor clever enough to cure her?"
"I don't know, dear," answered Ann Holland.
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