Stepping Heavenward [68]
has the care of him, she has become very fond of him, and he certainly forms one bond of union between us, for we both agree that he is the handsomest, best, most remarkable child that ever lived, or ever will live.
JULY 6.-I have come home to dear mother with both my children. Ernest says our only hope for baby is to keep her out of the city during the summer months.
What a petite wee maiden she is! Where does all the love come from? If I had had her always I do not see how I could be more fond of her. And do people call it living who never had any children?
JULY 10.-lf this darling baby lives, I shall always believe it is owing to my mother's prayers.
I find little Ernest has a passionate temper, and a good deal of self-will. But he has fine qualities. I wish he had a better mother. I am so impatient with him when he is wayward and perverse! What he needs is a firm, gentle hand, moved by no caprice, and controlled by the constant fear of God. He never ought to hear an irritable word, or a sharp tone; but he does hear them, I must own with grief and shame. The truth is, it is so long since I really felt strong and well that I am not myself, and can not do him justice, poor child. Next to being a perfect wife I want to be a perfect mother. How mortifying, how dreadful in all things to come short of even one's own standard What approach, then, does one make to God's standard?
Mother seems very happy to have us here, though we make so much trouble. She encourages me in all my attempts to control myself and to control my dear little boy, and the chapters she gives me out of her own experience are as interesting as a novel, and a good deal more instructive.
AUGUST.-Dear Ernest has come to spend a week with us. He is all tired out, as there has been a great deal of sickness in the city, and father has had quite a serious attack. He brought with him a nurse for baby, as one more desperate effort to strengthen her constitution.
I reproached him for doing it without consulting me, but he said mother bad written to tell him that I was all worn out and not in a state to have the care of the children. It has been a terrible blow to me One by one I am giving up the sweetest maternal duties. God means that I shall be nothing and do nothing; a mere useless sufferer. But when I tell Ernest so, he says I am everything to him, and that God's children please him just as well when they sit patiently with folded hands, if that is His will, as when they are hard at work. But to be at work, to be useful, to be necessary to my husband and children, is just what I want, and I. do find it hard to be set against the wall, as it were, like an old piece of furniture no longer of any service I see now that my first desire has not been to please God, but to please myself, for I am restless under His restraining hand, and find my prison a very narrow one. I would be willing to bear any other trial, if I could only have health and strength for my beloved ones. I pray for patience with bitter tears.
Chapter 16
XVI.
OCTOBER.
WE are all at home together once more. The parting with mother was very painful. Every year that she lives now increases her loneliness, and makes me long to give her the shelter of my home. But in the midst of these anxieties, how much I have to make me happy! Little Ernest is the life and soul of the house; the sound of his feet pattering about, and all his prattle, are the sweetest music to my ear; and his heart is brimful of love and joy, so that he shines on us all like a sunbeam. Baby is improving every day, and is one of those tender, clinging little things that appeal to everybody's love and sympathy. I never saw a more angelic face than hers. Father sits by the hour looking at her. To-day he said:
"Daughter Katherine, this lovely little one is not meant for this sinful world."
"This world needs to be adorned with lovely little ones," I said. "And baby was never so well as she is now."
"Do not set your heart too fondly upon her," he returned. "I feel that she is far too dear to me."
JULY 6.-I have come home to dear mother with both my children. Ernest says our only hope for baby is to keep her out of the city during the summer months.
What a petite wee maiden she is! Where does all the love come from? If I had had her always I do not see how I could be more fond of her. And do people call it living who never had any children?
JULY 10.-lf this darling baby lives, I shall always believe it is owing to my mother's prayers.
I find little Ernest has a passionate temper, and a good deal of self-will. But he has fine qualities. I wish he had a better mother. I am so impatient with him when he is wayward and perverse! What he needs is a firm, gentle hand, moved by no caprice, and controlled by the constant fear of God. He never ought to hear an irritable word, or a sharp tone; but he does hear them, I must own with grief and shame. The truth is, it is so long since I really felt strong and well that I am not myself, and can not do him justice, poor child. Next to being a perfect wife I want to be a perfect mother. How mortifying, how dreadful in all things to come short of even one's own standard What approach, then, does one make to God's standard?
Mother seems very happy to have us here, though we make so much trouble. She encourages me in all my attempts to control myself and to control my dear little boy, and the chapters she gives me out of her own experience are as interesting as a novel, and a good deal more instructive.
AUGUST.-Dear Ernest has come to spend a week with us. He is all tired out, as there has been a great deal of sickness in the city, and father has had quite a serious attack. He brought with him a nurse for baby, as one more desperate effort to strengthen her constitution.
I reproached him for doing it without consulting me, but he said mother bad written to tell him that I was all worn out and not in a state to have the care of the children. It has been a terrible blow to me One by one I am giving up the sweetest maternal duties. God means that I shall be nothing and do nothing; a mere useless sufferer. But when I tell Ernest so, he says I am everything to him, and that God's children please him just as well when they sit patiently with folded hands, if that is His will, as when they are hard at work. But to be at work, to be useful, to be necessary to my husband and children, is just what I want, and I. do find it hard to be set against the wall, as it were, like an old piece of furniture no longer of any service I see now that my first desire has not been to please God, but to please myself, for I am restless under His restraining hand, and find my prison a very narrow one. I would be willing to bear any other trial, if I could only have health and strength for my beloved ones. I pray for patience with bitter tears.
Chapter 16
XVI.
OCTOBER.
WE are all at home together once more. The parting with mother was very painful. Every year that she lives now increases her loneliness, and makes me long to give her the shelter of my home. But in the midst of these anxieties, how much I have to make me happy! Little Ernest is the life and soul of the house; the sound of his feet pattering about, and all his prattle, are the sweetest music to my ear; and his heart is brimful of love and joy, so that he shines on us all like a sunbeam. Baby is improving every day, and is one of those tender, clinging little things that appeal to everybody's love and sympathy. I never saw a more angelic face than hers. Father sits by the hour looking at her. To-day he said:
"Daughter Katherine, this lovely little one is not meant for this sinful world."
"This world needs to be adorned with lovely little ones," I said. "And baby was never so well as she is now."
"Do not set your heart too fondly upon her," he returned. "I feel that she is far too dear to me."