The day that little Hattie died
The house seemed strange and queer,
The furniture looked different
And everything was drear,
We children all would huddle close
Upon the steps and try,
To think of Heaven where she was
And then we all would cry.
Then Bobbie sneaked off by himself
And we hunted everywhere,
Till father found him in the yard
In little Hattie's chair.
He was hid behind the lilac bush
Where she would often play,
And, his face was streaked with tears
And he called, "Oh, keep away."
But, father kissed him on the head
And lifted chair and all,
And carried him into the house
And on up through the hall.
Until he reached the attic door
And, we kept followng too,
Because we wondered what it was
That he was going to do.
He got a hammer and a nail
And drove it way up high,
And said, "Now, children you may kiss
The little chair good-bye.
But, you must never take it down
And never sit on it".
And, there stood mother watching us...
And we all cried a bit.
One Saturday when Bobbie was
A tracking to its lair,
A wild beast of the forest,
He climbed the attic stair...
Quite softly in his stocking feet
And peeped in through the door,
And there by little Hattie's chair
Knelt mother on the floor.
"Oh, Jesus, spare the others...
And make them pure and good,
Help me to train them carefully
As a Christian mother should".
Then Bobbie tiptoed down the stairs
And told us what he'd heard,
And we looked at one another
But, didn't speak a word.
That evening after father came
And we got the song books out,
And took our turn in reading
A Bible verse about.
He said, he'd heard that we had been
So very good all day,
But, no one told him 'twas because
Bobbie heard mother pray.
Copyright - By: Grace W. Haight