g
ready to take up his father's work. I've stayed here ever since. I love
the people and they love me, and I couldn't very well be moved, you
know. My boy is out in Arizona, a home missionary!" She said it as
Abraham Lincoln's mother might have said: "My boy is president of the
United States!" Her face wore a kind of glory that bore a startling
resemblance to the man of the desert. Hazel marvelled greatly, and
understood what had made the son so great.

"I don't see how he could go and leave you alone!" she broke forth
almost bitterly. "I should think his duty was here with his mother!"

"Yes, I know," the mother smiled; "they do say that, some of them, but
it's because they don't understand. You see we gave John to God when he
was born, and it was our hope from the first that he would choose to be
a minister and a missionary. Of course John thought at first after his
father went away that he could not leave me, but I made him see that I
would be happier so. He wanted me to go with him, but I knew I should
only be a hindrance to the work, and it came to me that my part in the
work was to stay at home and let him go. It was all I had left to do
after I became an invalid. And I'm very comfortable. Amelia Ellen takes
care of me like a baby, and there are plenty of friends. My boy writes
me beautiful letters twice a week, and we have such nice talks about the
work. He's very like his father, and growing more so every day.
Perhaps," she faltered and fumbled under the pink and silver lap robe,
"perhaps you'd like to read a bit of one of his letters. I have it here.
It came yesterday and I've only read it twice. I don't let myself read
them too often because they have to last three days apiece at least.
Perhaps you'd read it aloud to me. I like to hear John's words aloud
sometimes and Amelia Ellen has never spent much time reading. She is
peculiar in her pronunciation. Do you mind reading it to me?"

She held a letter forth, written in a strong free hand, the same that
had signed the name John Chadwick Brownleigh in the little book. Hazel's
heart throbbed eagerly and her hand trembled as she reached it shyly
towards the letter. What a miracle was this! that his very letter was
being put into her hand, her whom he loved--to read! Was it possible?
Could there be a mistake? No, surely not. There could not be two John
Brownleighs, both missionaries to Arizona.

"Dear little Mother o' Mine:" it began, and plunged at once into th