母 亲 的 故 事[本站推荐]

第一篇：母 亲 的 故 事[本站推荐]

母 亲 的 故 事

范莎

世间最伟大的爱莫过于母爱，世间最伟大的情莫过于亲情，世间最伟大的故事莫过于关于母亲的故事。

我的母亲是一个地地道道的农家妇人。她每天辛勤劳作，从不出一声怨言。家里家外，事事井井有条，处处干干净净。

她对我，从不吝啬。记得那时我家正在修房子，家里的资金周转不过来，我好像在读小学三年级吧。那时的我不懂事，非常任性，根本听不进大人的话。学校要举办文艺晚会，表演节目的人要交服装费。我急匆匆地跑回家，找到妈妈说了这件事。妈妈听了以后，没有多说什么，只是轻轻地“哦”了一声。我以为她答应了，就高兴地玩耍去了。

服装费顺利的交了。可是晚上回到家以后，我听到家里正在吵架。只听得妈妈的声音格外的清晰：“我女儿事情当然是最重要的了！我不想让她心里难过，我宁愿自己不吃药！咳几天不就过去了吗？”我听了好久，才明白是怎么回事。原来，妈妈自己生着病，却把家里唯一能拿出来的钱给我交服装费了！当时的我没怎么多想，只是觉得妈妈真好！今天看来，母亲为了我，为了我这个调皮任性孩子的快乐，宁愿自己忍受病痛的折磨，是多么的无私啊！母亲，我想对你说：“你受苦了！”

不仅如此，她还给了我更加深刻的记忆。

有一个夜晚，风雨大作，雷电交加，声音大得吓人，晚上简直就像白天一样。

不知怎么了，我觉得浑身不舒服，全身发烫，身上像有一团火一样乱窜，我翻来覆去睡不着。母亲好像听见了我的动静，起身开了灯。来到我的床边，焦急得声音都抖了：“怎么了？是不是不舒服啊？”当时我的喉咙有些嘶哑了，声音竟然很小，边点

头边细声地说：“嗯。”

母亲听见后，就用手摸了摸我的额头，再摸摸她自己的额头，又低下头来，用她的额头来碰我的额头。这时，我能很清楚地看见她脸上的斑纹，那些皱纹都是为了我才生成的吧，如果没有我这个淘气包的话，母亲是不是会年轻些呢？

正想着，母亲惊叫起来：“呀，这个娃娃发烧了！”说完，母亲就往门外跑，好像是去找什么东西。她边翻抽屉边叨念着什么，我困极了，但是还没有入睡。终于，母亲像是发现了稀奇的东西一样，脸上露出开心的神情。我仔细一看，原来是酒精！母亲拿来酒精，赶紧把酒精往我身上擦，一股股凉气顿时传遍全身，我翻身慢慢就睡着了。

第二天，我醒来一看，身边歪躺着一个人，原来是母亲！母亲侧身歪躺在我旁边，半边身子悬在床沿上。母亲，这一夜，你就是这个姿势睡觉的吗？

母亲，原谅我！我没有诗人的才情，写不出动听的诗篇来赞美你；我没有画家的天赋，描不出你慈爱的容颜；我没有歌者的音喉，唱不出动听的音来传唱你！

母亲啊，你的故事，值得我用一生的时间来慢慢品读，慢慢回味！

第二篇：母亲故事

母亲故事

《没锁上的门》 乡偏僻小屋里住着一对母女，母亲深怕遭窃总是一到晚上便在门把上连锁三道锁；女儿则厌恶了像风景画般枯燥而一成不变的乡村生活，她向往都市，想去看看自己透过收音机所想象的那个华丽世界。某天清晨，女儿为了追求那虚幻的梦离开了母亲身边。她趁母亲睡觉时偷偷离家出走了。“妈，你就当作没我这个女儿吧。”可惜这世界不如她想象的美丽动人，她在不知不觉中，走向堕落之途，深陷无法自拔的泥淖中，这时她才领悟到自己的过错。经过十年后，已经长大女儿拖着受伤的心与狼狈的身躯，回到了故乡。她回到家时已是深夜，微弱的灯光透过门缝渗透出来。她轻轻敲了敲门，却突然有种不祥的预感。女儿扭开门把时吓了一跳。“好奇怪，母亲之前从来不曾忘记把门锁上的。”母亲瘦弱的身躯蜷曲在冰冷的地板，以令人心疼的模样睡着了。“妈……妈……”听到女儿的哭泣声，母亲睁开了眼睛，一语不发地搂住女儿疲惫的肩膀。在母亲怀里哭了很久之后，女儿突然好奇问道：“妈，今天你怎么没有锁门，有人闯进来怎么办？”母亲回答说：“不只是今天而已，我怕你晚上突然回来进不了家门，所以十年来门从没锁过。”母亲十年如一日，等待着女儿回来，女儿房间里的摆设一如当年。这天晚上，母女回复到十年前的样子，紧紧锁上房门睡着了

《便当里的头发》在那个贫困的年代里，很多同学往往连带个象样的便当到学校上课的能力都没有，我邻座的同学就是如此。他的饭菜永远是黑黑的豆豉，我的便当却经常装着火腿和荷包蛋，两者有着天壤之别。而且这个同学，每次都会先从便当里捡出头发之后，再若无其事地吃他的便当。这个令人浑身不舒服的发现一直持续着。“可见他妈妈有多邋遢，竟然每天饭里都有头发。”同学们私底下议论著。为了顾及同学自尊，又不能表现出来，总觉得好肮脏，因此对这同学的印象，也开始大打折扣。有一天学校放学之后，那同学叫住了我：“如果没什么事就去我家玩吧。”虽然心中不太愿意，不过自从同班以来，他第一次开口邀请我到家里玩，所以我不好意思拒绝他。随朋友来到了位于汉城最陡峭地形的某个贫民村。“妈，我带朋友来了。”听到同学兴奋的声音之后，房门打开了。他年迈的母亲出现在门口。“我儿子的朋友来啦，让我看看。”但是走出房门的同学母亲，只是用手摸着房门外的梁柱。原来她是双眼失明的盲人。我感觉到一阵鼻酸，一句话都说不出来。同学的便当菜虽然每天如常都是豆豉，却是眼睛看不到的母亲，小心翼翼帮他装的便当，那不只是一顿午餐，更是母亲满满的爱心，甚至连掺杂在里面的头发，也一样是母亲的爱。

母亲的名言警句

母爱是世间最真挚的爱。—董宝平

世界上有一种最美丽的声音，那便是母亲的呼唤。—但丁 世界上的一切光荣和骄傲，都来自母亲。—高尔基 母爱是一种巨大的火焰。—罗曼。罗兰 母亲的爱是永远不会枯竭的。—冈察洛夫

老舍说：失去了慈母便像花插在瓶子里，虽然还有色有香，却失去了根。我觉得这句话说明慈母对一个人是非常重要的，就想根对花一样重要。

世界上一切其他都是假的，空的，唯有母亲才是真的，永恒的，不灭的。（印度）

第三篇：母亲的故事- 副本

母亲的故事

一位著名的人曾经这样说过这样的一句话：人之所以要生儿育女是因为发生在自己身上的故事需要有人聆听。今天，母亲永远离开了我们。在她生前，我们曾几何时去认真地听过他们讲自己的故事？母亲没有文化，也不善于和孩子们交流，但是发生在她身上的事情是却是感人肺腑感人的，也是震撼心灵的。

人活一世，劫难重重。而母亲的苦，更苦，难，更难。母亲前后生育了八个儿女。一一抚养成人，儿子娶妻，女儿出嫁。由于父亲受文革冲击不在家里，母亲一人撑起了这个家，带着我们兄妹八个一起生活，这其中的滋味已不再是言语所能表述的。隔壁婶子曾经给我讲过这样一个故事：因为父亲的事母亲也遭到了批斗，当时母亲挺着大肚子，身子很笨，批斗的时间长了，母亲先是站着，后来就体力不支，圪蹴下，由于怀着孕，又害怕压着孩子，就双手背在地上撑着沉重的身体，就只差仰面朝天躺在地上了。其实，那时候母亲肚子里的那个孩子就是我。我是在父亲离开家的四个月之后出生的。在那个敏感的时代政治上的原因致使家庭突发变故，母亲经常为父亲担惊受怕，老早就患上了心脏病。刚出生的我嗷嗷待哺，可哪里有奶喂我，姐姐就抱着我吃过很多人的奶。母亲无奈便做出了把我送人的决定，当抱养我的好心人要抱我走的时候，母亲又哭着决定留下我，把抱养我的人打发走了，她的理由是孩子就要在妈妈的身边，再苦再难，一个都不能少。她给我起名“欠”，就是缺的意思。母亲对待生活的态度，在我的印象中永远是从容与淡定的。母亲带着八个儿女生活的日子是熬煎的，但是母亲口中常常哼着没人能听得懂的调子，我们那时候围在母亲的膝下，问，妈，“你唱的啥”？妈说，“戏”。长大后，我问过母亲，孩子那么多，是怎么养大的？妈妈说，娃打娃，我问什么是娃打娃？妈妈说，是大娃看碎娃，是的，我就是二姐怀抱里长大的。我问，那么多孩子是怎么管理的？妈妈说，每到晚上娃睡着了，点数数有多少双脚，有一次还发现，少一双脚，发动人找娃，最后找到了，是三娃睡着在家门前的涝池旁。

那年，母亲和四娃（我四哥）去彬县拉煤，拖拉机坏到了太峪沟，那是半夜，我哥和妈将煤卸到路边，只有一把铁锨留给妈妈，因为那是林区，晚上有狼。四哥修车去了，妈妈就拿着那把铁锨守着一吨煤，在点点星光下，听着远处叫人毛骨悚然狼嚎声坚持了不知多长时间，四哥开车回来了，寒冷和饥饿早已经被忘记了，又将煤装上车。那时才感觉到了饿，只有两个馍，没有水喝，只好从拖拉机的水箱里放了一点水喝，吃完后母亲和四哥又继续上路了。

在永寿山区承包了几百亩地，在收割的季节里，劳动人数很多，妈妈在村子里住的地方做饭，我送过饭，无论是煎饼还是凉皮，足有两尺高，妈妈用筛子装上，帮我绑到自行车上，那是黄土高坡丘陵地带，能骑得时候少，更多的时候推着走，走上十里地的样子，才能到承包的庄稼地里。还有一些需要收割机完成的，叫好收割机，妈妈领着司机师傅到地里收割，当时妈妈坐在收割机里，那种动作，那种姿势，一副英姿飒爽的样子。妈妈是女强人。我是老小，感情丰富，常常流泪，妈妈最看不起我这点，常常用一个词“楞势”，哥哥姐姐也叫我“刘鼻复江山”。妈妈常常教育我说，你看你二哥，在磨子上夹断一个手指，在人面前都不哭。

妈妈的故事是说不完的，今天妈妈妈离开了我们，母爱如山，如今山倒了，我们进门后那一声响亮的妈，再也不会有人“哎”着答应了！但令我们欣慰的是母亲不再受病痛的折磨了，可以到父亲的身边去陪伴他，你们二老分开的时间太久太久。人总是灵魂在高处，而肉体在低处，妈妈虽然离开我们，躯体埋葬在家乡的土地里，妈妈的子孙会永远眷恋这块土地，因为这土地使我们的父母的骨血化成，这片土地就是妈妈温暖的怀抱！

第四篇：母亲的故事[原稿]

母亲的故事

夏瑜

善意的谎言

母亲那年十七岁，就已经开始工作了。而没过多久，母亲病了，在特别繁忙的工作中倒下，住进了医院，卧床不起。姥姥知道了，爱女心切，焦急地赶过来看望母亲。

母女俩阔别已久，待在床前见面时，居然相拥而哭，热（惹）得旁人也掉了眼泪（旁人指的是我父亲），也感动了。

姥姥开始不停地嘘寒问暖，唠叨不停，手也不停相互摩擦着，可见她心中的焦急。她问母亲：“你到底感觉如何，气色这么不好？” 母亲微笑说：“感觉还好，就是没什么食欲，饭也不想吃。” 姥姥急了：“孩子，不吃东西怎么行吗（呢）,（？）想想到底想吃点什么？”

母亲诡秘地笑了：“其实我就是想吃你报（包）的韭菜饺子了。” 姥姥顿时微笑起来，仿佛终于找到治病的良方，拍膝而起说：“好！我去给你包，你小时候最喜欢吃的就是韭菜饺子！”

说完姥姥便拉着父亲回家，和面包饺子去了。

在家里和面的时候，姥姥不让父亲插手，因为他向来不进厨房，他就怕父亲坏了她的好事。父亲在厨房门口，悄悄看着，姥姥包得极为细心，搓揉扭捏间，姥姥不住用手背擦着眼睛。

一个多小时后，韭菜饺子终于做好了，个个饱满鲜香，姥姥把饺子装进保温饭盒，扯着父亲就匆匆出门了。姥姥一路上步子走得很急，巍巍颤颤的。

到医院的时候，母亲见着饺子就高兴起来，仿佛犯馋很久了。连忙伸手去接，却忽然想到自己的手很脏，于是要姥姥去打点水回来洗手，姥姥起身而去。刚去一会儿，母亲就对父亲说：“这离洗手间有点远，去帮妈端水。”于是父亲就去了。

等他们回来的时候，母亲的饭盒，里面只剩两三个饺子了。姥姥责骂她还是那样嘴馋，脸上却浮起笑容，因为母亲终于吃下了东西。

接下来几天，都是如此。

有一天晚上，父亲留下来陪母亲。母亲在一旁看书，而父亲坐在桌前写东西。此间，一不小心，笔掉到地上，滚到母亲的床底下，于是伸手去摸，笔没摸到，却摸到一袋东西。拖出来一看，父亲满脸惊讶，竟是一大袋饺子。

父亲连忙问母亲怎么回事，母亲叫父亲塞，红着脸说：“待会儿你拿去扔了，别让妈看见了。”

父亲问：“饺子你都没有吃呀？”

“你食欲，那你还叫妈包饺子干什么？”

“妈千里迢迢（前面写回家包饺子，这就是说医院离家不远，“千里迢迢”就用得过度了）来照顾我，要是帮不上忙，眼睁睁地看这我生病，会很伤心的。知道不？”

我写到这里，也被母亲的话震撼了，终于醒悟过来：原来母亲让姥姥包饺子却有藏起来，居然是成全老人的一番好意，让老人不担心。

我知道了有一种钟沉甸甸的深藏心底的爱意，却永远挥之不去。

母亲的罪状

母亲温柔似水，细腻如丝，我感谢母亲给了我生命，但是功“过”不能相抵，母亲的“罪状”我也要一一记录下来。小时候，我真是比林妹妹还体弱多病，大病小痛隔三差五地缠着我，这就注定了我将长期与药“相见”。为了让我吃下这苦涩药片，母亲可真是处心积虑（这个词应加引号）呀！

“宝贝，吃口香蕉吧！”母亲“笑里藏刀”地对我说。可怜的我少年无知，禁不住诱惑，毫不客气地咬了一口，正待细细品味时，一股难言的苦涩溢满口腔，药片就“躺”在其中！我就是“哑巴吃香蕉——有苦说不出”！谁让我嘴馋呢？唉……母亲却在一旁长舒一口气：“终于吃了。”我在心中默默记下了母亲的的第一条“罪状”:诱惑罪。

第二次喝药时，母亲并没有给我吃香蕉而给我块糖，并自己先吃掉半块。我想这糖应该不会像恶毒的皇后给白雪公主的甜啊！这时母亲笑着拿着一个绿色的“糖果”，我用牙顺势一嚼就吞下去了。“啊，好苦！”竟然是药片！于是，母亲的第二条“罪状”：欺诈罪。

以后的日子里，我牢记孟子“贫贱不能移，富贵不能淫，威武不能屈”的真理，坚决不吃药。母亲便狠下心来，把我放在那儿，然而捏住我的鼻子......于是，药片自然就“飞流直下嘴巴里”了！我大哭而泪，只能顺其自然了。第三条“罪状”：虐待罪。

正如孙悟空逃不出如来佛的手掌心一样。我永远逃不出母亲的“魔掌”。

枕头里有个梦

从小，我睡觉就有落枕的毛病。早晨起来，常常歪着脖子，疼得哭爹喊娘，母亲小心地替我揉来揉去，可这毕竟不是长久之计。

买的枕头不合适，母亲决定自己动手做。棉花是最容易的材料，可是太软了不行。母亲就一把把地挑来挑去，感觉软硬适中才放进枕袋里。两天后，我感激地结过母亲的这只花枕头，它那么轻，却又那么重。把头放上去，花枕的中间正好凹下去，我躺在海边的沙滩上，看满天的星星，呼吸清新空气，舒服极了。

可是夏天来了，棉花被汗水一侵，就发出霉味。于是，我索性撇开枕头睡觉。结果，我又崴了脖子。

这次母亲到外婆家带回一大包绿豆壳。母亲用它又缝制了一只新枕头。这只枕头比棉花的好多了。睡在上面，只要我轻轻一动，就会有一种“沙沙”的声音，就像一首优美，深情的童谣，在静静的夜空弥散，连夜的精灵都停住脚步。别提我有多喜欢这枕头了。好景不长，终于有一天枕头破了。我看到满枕的绿豆壳飘然落出，我的眼泪也随之落下。这可是母亲为我做的第二个枕头啊!时间流逝，我渐渐明白了，在这个变化的枕头里有个不变的世界，这世界里，有一种情感无时无刻的延伸。

请将修改后的稿子与这篇原稿作比较，看看有什么不同之处，是不是可以悟出一点写作技巧来呢？

第五篇：母亲的故事

THE STORY OF A MOTHER.A MOTHER sat by her little child;she was very sad, for she feared it would die.It was quite pale, and its little eyes were closed, and sometimes it drew a heavy deep breath, almost like a sigh;and then the mother gazed more sadly than ever on the poor little creature.Some one knocked at the door, and a poor old man walked in.He was wrapped in something that looked like a great horse cloth;and he required it truly to keep him warm, for it was cold winter;the country everywhere lay covered with snow and ice, and the wind blew so sharply that it cut one's face.The little child had dozed off to sleep for a moment, and the mother, seeing that the old man shivered with the cold, rose and placed a small mug of beer on the stove to warm for him.The old man sat and rocked the cradle;and the mother seated herself on a chair near him, and looked at her sick child who still breathed heavily, and took hold of its little hand.“You think I shall keep him, do you not? ” she said.“Our all merciful God will surely not take him away from me.”

The old man, who was indeed Death himself, nodded his head in a peculiar manner, which might have signified either Yes, or No;and the mother cast down her eyes, while the tears rolled down her cheeks.Then her head became heavy, for she had not closed her eyes for three days and nights, and she slept, but only for a moment.Shivering with cold, she started up and looked round the room.The old man was gone, and her child it was gone too!the old man had taken it with him.In the corner of the room the old clock began to strike;“whirr” went the chains, the heavy weight sank to the ground, and the clock stopped;and the poor mother rushed out of the house calling for her child.Out in the snow sat a woman in long black garments, and she said to the mother, “Death has been with you in your room.I saw him hastening away with your little child;he strides faster than the wind, and never brings back what he has taken away.”

“Only tell me which way he has gone, ” said the mother;tell me the way, I will find him.“

”I know the way, “ said the woman in the black garments;”but before I tell you, you must sing to me all the songs that you have sung to your child;I love these songs, I have heard them before.I am Night, and I saw your tears flow as you sang.“

”I will sing them all to you, “ said the mother;”but do not detain me now.I must overtake him, and find my child.“

But Night sat silent and still.Then the mother wept and sang, and wrung her hands.And there were many songs, and yet even more tears;till at length Night said, ”Go to the right, into the dark forest of fir trees;for I saw Death take that road with your little child.“

Within the wood the mother came to cross roads, and she knew not which to take.Just by stood a thorn bush;it had neither leaf nor flower, for it was the cold winter time, and icicles hung on the branches.”Have you not seen Death go by, with my little child? “ she asked.”Yes, “ replied the thorn bush;”but I will not tell you which way he has taken until you have warmed

me in your bosom.I am freezing to death here, and turning to ice.“

Then she pressed the bramble to her bosom quite close, so that it might be thawed, and the thorns pierced her flesh, and great drops of blood flowed;but the bramble shot forth fresh green leaves, and they became flowers on the cold winter's night, so warm is the heart of a sorrowing mother.Then the bramble bush told her the path she must take.She came at length to a great lake, on which there was neither ship nor boat to be seen.The lake was not frozen sufficiently for her to pass over on the ice, nor was it open enough for her to wade through;and yet she must cross it, if she wished to find her child.Then she laid herself down to drink up the water of the lake, which was of course impossible for any human being to do;but the bereaved mother thought that perhaps a miracle might take place to help her.”You will never succeed in this, “ said the lake;let us make an agreement together which will be better.I love to collect pearls, and your eyes are the purest I have ever seen.If you will weep those eyes away in tears into my waters, then I will take you to the large hothouse where Death dwells and rears flowers and trees, every one of which is a human life.”

“Oh, what would I not give to reach my child!” said the weeping mother;and as she still continued to weep, her eyes fell into the depths of the lake, and became two costly pearls.Then the lake lifted her up, and wafted her across to the opposite shore as if she were on a swing, where stood a wonderful building many miles in length.No one could tell whether it was a mountain covered with forests and full of caves, or whether it had been built.But the poor mother could not see, for she had wept her eyes into the lake.“Where shall I find Death, who went away with my little child? ” she asked.“He has not arrived here yet, ” said an old gray haired woman, who was walking about, and watering Death's hothouse.“How have you found your way here? and who helped you? ”

“God has helped me, ” she replied.“He is merciful;

will you not be merciful too? Where shall I find my little child? ”

“I did not know the child, ” said the old woman;“and you are blind.Many flowers and trees have faded to night, and Death will soon come to transplant them.You know already that every human being has a life tree or a life flower, just as may be ordained for him.They look like other plants;but they have hearts that beat.Children's hearts also beat: from that you may perhaps be able to recognize your child.But what will you give me, if I tell you what more you will have to do?

”I have nothing to give, “ said the afflicted mother;”but I would go to the ends of the earth for you.“

”I can give you nothing to do for me there, “ said the old woman;

”but you can give me your long black hair.You know yourself that it is beautiful, and it pleases me.You can take my white hair in exchange, which will be something in return.“

”Do you ask nothing more than that? “ said she.”I will give it to you with pleasure.“

And she gave up her beautiful hair, and received in return the white locks of the old woman.Then they went into Death's vast hothouse, where flowers and trees grew together in wonderful profusion.Blooming hyacinths, under glass bells, and peonies, like strong trees.There grew water plants, some quite fresh, and others looking sickly, which had water snakes twining round them, and black crabs clinging to their stems.There stood noble palm trees, oaks, and plantains, and beneath them bloomed thyme and parsley.Each tree and flower had a name;each

represented a human life, and belonged to men still living, some in China, others in Greenland, and in all parts of the world.Some large trees had been planted in little pots, so that they were cramped for room, and seemed about to burst the pot to pieces;while many weak little flowers were growing in rich soil, with moss all around them, carefully tended and cared for.The

sorrowing mother bent over the little plants, and heard the human heart beating in each, and recognized the beatings of her child's heart among millions of others.”That is it, “ she cried, stretching out her hand towards a little crocus flower which hung down its sickly head.”Do not touch the flower, “ exclaimed the old woman;”but place yourself here;and when Death comes

I expect him every minute do not let him pull up that plant, but threaten him that if he does you will serve the other flowers in the same manner.This will make him afraid;for he must account to God for each of them.None can be uprooted, unless he receives permission to do so.“

There rushed through the hothouse a chill of icy coldness, and the blind mother felt that Death had arrived.”How did you find your way hither? “ asked he;”how could you come here faster than I have? “

”I am a mother, “ she answered.And Death stretched out his hand towards the delicate little flower;but she held her hands tightly round it, and held it fast at same time, with the most anxious care, lest she should touch one of the leaves.Then Death breathed upon her hands, and she felt his breath colder than the icy wind, and her hands sank down powerless.”You cannot prevail against me, “ said Death.”But a God of mercy can, “ said she.”I only do His will, “ replied Death.”I am his gardener.I take all His flowers and trees, and transplant them into the gardens of Paradise in an unknown land.How they flourish there, and what that garden resembles, I may not tell you.“

”Give me back my child, “ said the mother, weeping and imploring;and she seized two beautiful flowers in her hands, and cried to Death, ”I will tear up all your flowers, for I am in despair.“

”Do not touch them, “ said Death.”You say you are unhappy;and would you make another mother as unhappy as yourself? “

”Another mother!“ cried the poor woman, setting the flowers free from her hands.”There are your eyes, “ said Death.”I fished them up out of the lake for you.They were shining brightly;but I knew not they were yours.Take them back they are clearer now than

before and then look into the deep well which is close by here.I will tell you the names of the two flowers which you wished to pull up;and you will see the whole future of the human beings

they represent, and what you were about to frustrate and destroy.“

Then she looked into the well;and it was a glorious sight to behold how one of them became a blessing to the world, and how much happiness and joy it spread around.But she saw that the life of the other was full of care and poverty, misery and woe.”Both are the will of God, “ said Death.”Which is the unhappy flower, and which is the blessed one? “ she said.”That I may not tell you, “ said Death;”but thus far you may learn, that one of the two flowers represents your own child.It was the fate of your child that you saw, the future of your own child.“

Then the mother screamed aloud with terror, ”Which of them belongs to my child? Tell me that.Deliver the unhappy child.Release it from so much misery.Rather take it away.Take it to the kingdom of God.Forget my tears and my entreaties;forget all that I have said or done.“

”I do not understand you, “ said Death.”Will you have your child back? or shall I carry him away to a place that you do not know? “

Then the mother wrung her hands, fell on her knees, and prayed to God, ”Grant not my prayers, when they are contrary to Thy will, which at all times must be

the best.Oh, hear them not;" and her head sank on her bosom.Then Death carried away her child to the unknown land.THE END.