As days and months passed away, I, in some measure, regained my
usual cheerfulness, although I was nowise inclined to forget my mother.
A year had now passed since I saw her laid in the grave. I often visited
her resting-place, and there I renewed my resolve to follow her
precepts; and many a time, kneeling by her grave did I implore wisdom
from on high to enable me to follow the counsels I had so often received
from those lips, now sealed in silence. It seemed to me, at such times,
that I almost held communion with the spirit of my mother.
I experienced much kindness from every member of Mr. Leighton's family.
I spent my leisure time mostly in my room. They did not, of course,
invite me to join parties, but they would often urge me to join a few
friends in their own parlor; but I always replied that my deep mourning
must be my excuse. I had no taste for company or mirth.
One afternoon the Leightons had gone to join a picnic party some two
miles from the city. They had invited me to accompany them, but as usual
I declined. I felt sad and lonely that long afternoon, and, being left
entirely alone, I could not prevent my thoughts from recurring to the
past. I thought of all the happy, careless days of my childhood; then my
memory ran back to the night, when, at ten years of age, I stood by the
death-bed of my father.
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