The Shroud

Once there was a mother who had a little boy of seven. He was so handsome and sweet that everyone who saw him loved him, and she loved him more than anything in the world. Then one day he suddenly became ill, and God took him to heaven.

The mother could not be comforted; she cried day and night. Soon after the child was buried, he began to appear at night in the places where he used to sit and play. When his mother cried, he cried too, and when morning came, he disappeared.

But the mother would not stop crying. One night the child came in his little white shroud, with a wreath of flowers around his head, and stood on the bed at her feet. He said, "Oh, mother, please stop crying, or I will never fall asleep in my coffin.

My shroud will not dry because your tears keep falling on it." The mother was afraid when she heard this, and she wept no more. The next night the child came again, holding a little light in his hand.

He said, "Look, mother, my shroud is nearly dry, and I can rest in my grave." Then the mother gave her sorrow to God and bore it quietly and patiently. The child never came again, but slept in his little bed beneath the earth.