And years rolled by.

The husband died, the wife was left behind in hard plight.  Now she could no longer afford to have a maid; but Sarah did not forsake the widow; she became her help in distress, and kept the household together; she worked till late in the night, and got bread for the house by the labor of her hands.  There were no near relatives to help a family where the mother grew weaker each day, lingering for months on a bed of sickness.  Sarah, gentle and pious, watched, nursed, and worked, and became the blessing of the poor home.

“There lies the Bible,” said the invalid; “read to me this wearisome evening; I sadly want to hear God’s word.”

And Sarah bowed her head; she folded her hands round the Bible, which she opened, and read aloud to the sick woman; now and again the tears welled forth, but her eyes shone clearer, even as the darkness cleared from her soul.  “Mother, thy child shall not receive the baptism of the Christians, shall not be named in their communion; in this we will be united here on earth, but above this there is—­is a greater unity—­even in God.  ‘He goes with us beyond the grave’; ’It is He who pours water upon him that is thirsty, and floods upon the dry ground.’  I understand it!  I do not know myself how I came to it! through Him it is—­in Him—­Christ!”

And she trembled as she named the holy name; a baptism of fire streamed through her, stronger than her frame could bear, and she bent down, more powerless even than she by whom she watched.

“Poor Sarah!” they said; “she is worn out with labor and watching.”

They took her to the hospital for the poor; there she died; thence she was borne to her grave; not to the Christians’ graveyard; that was not the place for the Jewish girl:  no, outside, by the wall, her grave was dug.

And God’s sun, which shone upon the graves of the Christians, shines also upon that of the Jewish girl; and the hymns which are sung by the graves of the Christians resound by her grave beyond the wall; thither, too, reaches the promise:  “There is resurrection in Christ, in Him, the Saviour, who said to his disciples, ’John truly baptized with water; but ye shall be baptized with the Holy Ghost.’”

THE STORY OF A MOTHER

By HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN

A mother sat by her little child:  she was very sorrowful, and feared that it would die.  Its little face was pale, and its eyes were closed.  The child drew its breath with difficulty, and sometimes so deeply as if it were sighing; and then the mother looked more sorrowfully than before on the little creature.

Then there was a knock at the door, and a poor old man came in, wrapped up in something that looked like a great horse-cloth, for that keeps warm; and he required it, for it was cold winter.  Without, everything was covered with ice and snow, and the wind blew so sharply that it cut one’s face.