Once or twice, when I have seemed unhappy about little things,
she has come and held up her little mouth to be kissed.

Last night I was in pain, and made a sort of moan. She was lying by me, apparently asleep; but as if her gentle instinct of love prompted her even then, she pressed to me, saying, 'Kiss, Mama,'

These are trifles, but how very precious may the remembrance of them become.

- Elizabeth Gaskell