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
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