And then she
was a changed being. No longer harsh or forbidding in manner, she became
humble and gentle,--she ministered to the sick, and consoled the
afflicted--but she was especially famous for her love of children. All
the little ones of the place knew her, and were attracted by her,--and
the time came when Ulrika, white-haired, and of peaceful countenance,
could be seen knitting at her door in the long summer afternoons
surrounded by a whole army of laughing, chattering, dimpled youngsters,
who would play at hide-and-seek behind her chair, and clamber up to kiss
her wrinkled cheeks, putting their chubby arms round her neck with that
guileless confidence children show only to those whom they feel can
appreciate such flattering attentions. Some of her acquaintance were
wont to say that she was no longer the "godly" Ulrika--but however this
might be, it is certain she had drifted a little nearer to the Author of
all godliness, which--after all,--is the most we dare to strive for in
all our differing creeds.
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