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
horsecloth; 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 allmerciful
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