SOME time since, the mother of a rosy, restless, affectionate little boy, was dangerously ill. The bustle awakened the dear child, and on hearing the cause, he rushed into his mother’s room, and, without respect to physician, or any one present, fell on his knees, and in the most simple and pathetic terms, pleaded with God for her recovery, adding, “Oh, do not take away my mother? What shall I do if I lose my mother!” Soon after he came to her bedside, saying, “Are you better, mother?” “Yes, Freddy.” Expressing great joy, he replied, “God does hear a little boy’s prayer, don’t He, mother?”
ML 10/15/1899