The Story of a Mother Page #2

								

exchange, which will be something in return."

"Do you ask nothing more than that?" said she. "I will give it
to you with pleasure."

And she gave up her beautiful hair, and received in return the
white locks of the old woman. Then they went into Death's vast
hothouse, where flowers and trees grew together in wonderful
profusion. Blooming hyacinths, under glass bells, and peonies, like
strong trees. There grew water-plants, some quite fresh, and others
looking sickly, which had water-snakes twining round them, and black
crabs clinging to their stems. There stood noble palm-trees, oaks, and
plantains, and beneath them bloomed thyme and parsley. Each tree and
flower had a name; each represented a human life, and belonged to
men still living, some in China, others in Greenland, and in all parts
of the world. Some large trees had been planted in little pots, so
that they were cramped for room, and seemed about to burst the pot
to pieces; while many weak little flowers were growing in rich soil,
with moss all around them, carefully tended and cared for. The
sorrowing mother bent over the little plants, and heard the human
heart beating in each, and recognized the beatings of her child's
heart among millions of others.

"That is it," she cried, stretching out her hand towards a
little crocus-flower which hung down its sickly head.

"Do not touch the flower," exclaimed the old woman; "but place
yourself here; and when Death comes--I expect him every minute--do not
let him pull up that plant, but threaten him that if he does you
will serve the other flowers in the same manner. This will make him
afraid; for he must account to God for each of them. None can be
uprooted, unless he receives permission to do so."

There rushed through the hothouse a chill of icy coldness, and the
blind mother felt that Death had arrived.

"How did you find your way hither?" asked he; "how could you
come here faster than I have?"

"I am a mother," she answered.

And Death stretched out his hand towards the delicate little
flower; but she held her hands tightly round it, and held it fast at
same time, with the most anxious care, lest she should touch one of
the leaves. Then Death breathed upon her hands, and she felt his
breath colder than the icy wind, and her hands sank down powerless.

"You cannot prevail against me," said Death.

"But a God of mercy can," said she.

"I only do His will," replied Death. "I am his gardener. I take
all His flowers and trees, and transplant them into the gardens of
Paradise in an unknown land. How they flourish there, and what that
garden resembles, I may not tell you."

"Give me back my child," said the mother, weeping and imploring;
and she seized two beautiful flowers in her hands, and cried to Death,
"I will tear up all your flowers, for I am in despair."

"Do not touch them," said Death. "You say you are unhappy; and
would you make another mother as unhappy as yourself?"

"Another mother!" cried the poor woman, setting the flowers free
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