The Wolf-slayer; [Margaret Kaurner]Schmid, Christoph von
General
The Wolf-slayer; [Margaret Kaurner]
Schmid, Christoph von
Children's stories; Christian fiction; Epistolary fiction; Storytelling -- Juvenile fiction; Sunday school literature
Her house is very grand, the furniture splendid, the grounds
delightful; but after all, I love the green walls of the light airy
nursery, and am never so happy as when surrounded by my little charge.
When she took me into the room, the children recollected me, and came
and kissed me, and said they were glad that I had come. They all began
to ask me questions about the country, and about their uncle. It was
late in the autumn, but the children did not think of that, and wanted
to know whether I had brought them any bright beautiful flowers. I told
them the flowers were all gone, but that I had brought them some apples
from the trees which were covered with blossoms when they saw them in
the spring.
The fruit was divided between them, and they were greatly delighted.
They praised the apples for their fine red cheeks. The lady bade me
take good care of the children which I faithfully promised to do, and
she then told me she would ever be a kind and affectionate mother to
me. She is very good and kind, but she can never supply your place,
dearest mother. Never can I forget your kindness and your care. If I
live to be very old, I shall always remember how you went with me all
through the rain to the place from which the coach started, how you had
carefully prepared a cake and had gathered some of the rosiest apples,
but more than all, how you kissed me while the big tears were on my
cheeks, and how warmly and lovingly you bade God bless me!
Dearest mother, I shall never cease to remember your counsel, and shall
always pray, that I may remain—
Your dutiful and affectionate daughter,
MARGARET KAURNER.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
LETTER II.
MARGARET TO HER MOTHER.
DEAREST MOTHER:—It is but a week since I wrote to you, and here I am
inscribing another letter. O how thankful ought I to be that I was ever
taught to write; it is such a pleasure and comfort to sit down and pen
one's thoughts. I feel as if I were chatting with you as I used to do
in our pretty little parlor. All is now very quiet in the house, the
children are sleeping softly, and nothing can disturb me.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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