ends with folks, an' makes you such a good gal to your poor
old mother. Kiss me, child," and Mrs. Carr lifted up her face to be
kissed, as a child lifts up its face to its mother. She did this many
times a day; and, whenever Mercy bent down to kiss her, she put her hands
on the old woman's shoulders, and said, "Dear little mother!" in a tone
which made her mother's heart warm with happiness.

It is a very beautiful thing to see just this sort of relation between an
aged parent and a child, the exact reversal of the bond, and the bond so
absolutely fulfilled. It seems to give a new and deeper sense to the word
"filial," and a new and deeper significance to the joy of motherhood or
fatherhood. Alas, that so few sons and daughters are capable of it! so few
helpless old people know the blessedness of it! No little child six years
old ever rested more entirely and confidingly in the love and kindness and
shelter and direction of its mother than did Mrs. Carr in the love and
kindness and shelter and direction of her daughter Mercy. It had begun to
be so, while Mercy was yet a little girl. Before she was fifteen years
old, she felt a responsibility for her mother's happiness, a watchfulness
over her mother's health, and even a care of her mother's clothes. With
each year, the sense of these responsibilities grew deeper; and after her
marriage, as she was denied the blessing of children, all the deep
maternal instincts of her strong nature flowed back and centred anew
around this comparatively helpless, aged child whom she called mother, and
treated with never-failing respect.

When Mrs. Carr first saw the house they were to live in, she exclaimed,--

"O Lor', Mercy! Is thet the house?" Then, stepping back a few steps,
shoving her spectacles high on her nose, and with her head well thrown
back, she took a survey of the building in silence. Then she turned slowly
around, and, facing Mercy, said in a droll, dry way, not uncommon with
her,--

"'Bijah Jenkins's barn!"

Mercy laughed outright.

"So it is, mother. I hadn't thought of it. It looks just like that old
barn of Deacon Jenkins's."

"Yes," said Mrs. Carr. "That's it, exzackly. Well, I never thought o'
offerin' to hire a barn to live in afore, but I s'pose 't'll do till we
can look about. Mebbe we can do better."

"But we've taken it for a year, mother," said Mercy, a little dismayed.

"Oh, hev we? Well, well, I daresay it's comfortable enough; so the sun
shines in