and it pleases me. You can take my white hair in 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.
