Prevod

A mother had a little boy of seven who was so beautiful and sweet that no one could look at him without loving him, and she loved him more than anything in the world. Now it happened that he suddenly fell ill, and the dear Lord took him to himself; the mother could find no comfort and wept day and night. Soon after he was buried, however, the child began to appear at night in the places where he had sat and played while he was alive. When his mother wept, he wept too, and when morning came, he vanished. But when his mother would not stop weeping, he came one night in the little white shroud in which he had been laid in his coffin, with a wreath upon his head. He sat down on the bed at her feet and said, ‘Oh, Mother, please stop weeping, or I cannot fall asleep in my coffin, for all your tears fall upon my little shroud and will not let it dry.’ The mother was startled to hear this and wept no more. The next night the little child came again, holding a small candle in his hand, and said, ‘You see, now my little shroud is almost dry, and I have peace in my grave.’ Then the mother entrusted her sorrow to the dear Lord and bore it quietly and patiently, and the child came no more, but slept in his little bed beneath the earth.