It was all about Rodney--in fact, a complete
life history of the lad from the cold night he had been left at the
rectory. Far away in the big American city a few days later, in a
scantily furnished room, it was read by a woman whose tears fell upon
the pages as she eagerly drank in every word which told her of the
welfare of her darling child.
The next year Rodney's mother wrote every month, enclosing one dollar
each time. This amount was duly deposited in the bank to the child's
account. This was kept up with great regularity for several years, and
during that time numerous letters were exchanged. The ones from the
mother were always very brief, and never once did she mention anything
about herself. It was all of Rodney she wrote, for her heart seemed
full of love and longing for the child.
"Your letters are all too short," she once wrote. "I read them over
and over again, and as you describe my little darling, how I long to
see him and clasp him in my arms. God grant I may ere long have that
blessed privilege. He is enshrined in my heart, and his sweet face is
ever before me. I console myself with the thought that he is safe and
well provided for. Some day, I feel sure, I shall to a certain extent
repay you for all that you have done for him and me.
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