Polly was remembering how when Mrs. Shaw came home that day in her fine visiting costume, and Maud ran to welcome her with unusual affection, she gathered up her lustrous silk and pushed the little girl away, saying, "Don't touch me child! Your hands are dirty." Then the thought had come to Polly that the velvet cloak didn't cover a right motherly heart, that the fretful face under the nodding purple plumes was not a tender motherly face, and that the hands in the delicate primrose gloves had put away something very sweet and precious.""She thought of another woman, whose dress never was too fine for little wet cheeks to lie against or loving little arms to press, whose face, in spite of many lines and the gray hairs above it, was never sour or unsympathetic when children's eyes turned toward it and whose hands never were too busy, too full, or too nice to welcome and serve the little sons and daughters who freely brought their small hopes and fears, sins and sorrows, to her, who dealt out justice and mercy with such wise love.
"Ah, that's a mother!" thought Polly as the memory came warm into her heart, making her feel very rich and pity Maud for being so poor.
This is a favorite passage of mine from the book, An Old Fashioned Girl by Louisa May Alcott
I want to be like Polly's mom, although I fear that at times I am more like Maud's.
Secret#4: I'm trying.
