A burning heat ran through his whole body; she had heard it all. He sprang down from the table where he had been sitting, went out, cast himself on the ground, and it seemed as though he must bury himself out of sight. He could not rest, and got up feeling that he must go farther on. He went past the barn, and behind it sat the mother, sewing on a fine, new shirt, just for him. She had always been in the habit of singing a hymn over her work when she sat sewing, but now she was not singing. She was not weeping, either; she only sat and sewed. Arne could bear it no longer he flung himself down in the grass directly in front of her, looked up at her, and wept and sobbed bitterly. The mother dropped her work and took his head between her hands. "Poor Arne!" said she, and laid her own beside his. He did not try to say a word, but wept as he had never done before. "I knew you were good at heart," said the mother, and stroked down his hair. "Mother, you must not say no to what I am going to ask for," was the first thing he could say. "That you know I cannot do," answered she. He tried to stop crying, and then stammered out, with his head still in her lap: "Mother, sing something for me." "My dear, I cannot," said she, softly. "Mother, sing something for me," begged the boy, "or I believe I will never be able to look at you again." She stroked his hair, but was silent. "Mother, sing, sing, I say! Sing," he begged, "or I will go so far away that I will never come home any more." And while he, now fourteen in his fifteenth year as he was, lay there with his head in his mother's lap, she began to sing over him:-- "Father, stretch forth Thy mighty hand, Thy Holy Spirit send yonder: Bless Thou the child on the lonely strand, Nor in its sports let it wander. Slipp'ry the way, the water deep,-- Lord, in Thy arm but the darling keep, Then through Thy mercy 't will never Drown, but with Thee live forever. "Missing her child, in disquiet sore, Much for its safety fearing, Often the mother calls from her door, Never an answer hearing,-- Then comes the thought: where'er it be, Blessed Lord, it is near to Thee; Jesus will guide his brother Home to the anxious mother."[7]