Awakening by Maud Diver

"Mine ear is full of the murmur of rocking cradles; 'For a single Cradle,' says Nature, 'I would give every one of my graves -- -- " ROUMANIAN BALLAD.

The door of the day-nursery stood ajar; his own day-nursery, the one room in the house where the spirit of his mother seemed still to linger. He had grudged it not a little to Dick's unruly offspring. But well he knew how she would have approved, both the act of fellow-kindness and her who had urged it -- that fragile-sweet wife of his, who, for all her gentleness, seemed rather to set her impress on others than to take colour from the enveloping influences of the West.