Nesting Doll

He scowled at her, “ Is that an attempt at humour, my daughter? This is not a day for laughter. It is a day for mourning. Your mother has died and at dawn was buried. “

Truda was lost for words and went into the yard. The day was warm. Her mother was dead and she felt nothing. She could see no sign of a grave and the axe was missing.

She ran back into the cottage, and asked, “ Where's the axe, Father? “

Martin had it resting across his lap, the book of scripture tossed on the floor.

“ It's right here, my daughter, “ he said, with a crazed look in his eye, “ safest in my hands. “

“ Where's mother buried? “





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