The Little Shroud

: Folk-lore And Legends: German

There was once a woman who had a little son of about seven years old,

who was so lovely and beautiful that no one could look upon him

without being kind to him, and he was dearer to her than all the world

beside. It happened that he suddenly fell ill and died, and his mother

would not be comforted, but wept for him day and night. Shortly after

he was buried he showed himself at night in the places where he had

been use in his lifetime to sit and play, and if his mother wept, he

wept also, and when the morning came he departed. Since his mother

never ceased weeping, the child came one night in the little white

shroud in which he had been laid in his coffin, and with the chaplet

upon his head, and seating himself at her feet, upon the bed, he

cried--



"O mother, mother, give over crying, else I cannot stop in my coffin,

for my shroud is never dry because of your tears, for they fall upon

it."



When his mother heard this she was sore afraid, and wept no more. And

the babe came upon another night, holding in his hand a little taper,

and he said--



"Look, mother, my shroud is now quite dry, and I can rest in my

grave."



Then she bowed to the will of Providence, and bore her sorrow with

silence and patience, and the little child returned not again, but

slept in his underground bed.