lisman?" asked the
Italian and the _Nubian_ together.

"One at a time, please. My dear," she addressed the Italian,
"the point is, that men, whom we serve, think us beautiful indeed.
It seems strange to us, who carry the thought of the forests we have
left; and on warm days, when the sap awakes in us and tries to climb
again, forgetting its weakness, we miss the green boughs and the moss at
our feet and the birds overhead. But I have studied my reflection often
enough in calm weather, and begin to see what men have in mind when they
admire us."

"And the talisman?" asked the _Nubian_ again.

"The talisman? There is no one cure for useless regret, but each must
choose his own. With me it is the thought of the child after whom I was
christened. The day they launched me was her first birthday, and she a
small thing held in the crook of her mother's arm: when the bottle swung
against my stem the wine spurted, and some drops of it fell on her face.
The mother did not see me take the water--she was too busy wiping the
drops away. But it was a successful launch, and I have brought the
family luck, while she has brought them happiness. Because of it, and
because our names are alike, her parents think of us together; and
sometimes, when one begins to talk of 'Thekla,' the other will not know
for a moment which of us is meant. They drink my health, too, on her
birthday, which is the fourteenth of May; and you know King Solomon's
verse for the fourteenth--'She is like the merchants' ships, she
bringeth her food from afar.' This is what I have done while she was
growing; for King Solomon wrote it for a wife, of course. But now I
shall yield up my trust, for when I return she is to be married. She
shall bind that verse upon her with a coral necklace I carry for my
gift, and it shall dance on her white throat when her husband leads her
out to open the wedding-ball."

"Since you are so fond of children," said the _Touch-me-not_, "tell me,
what shall we do for the one I have on my deck? He is the small boy who
signalled Christmas to us from the garden above; and he dreams of
nothing but the sea, though his parents wish him to stick to his books
and go to college."

The Dane did not answer for a moment. She was considering. "Wherever
he goes," she said at length, "and whatever he does, he will find that
to serve much is to renounce much. Let us show him that what is
renounced may yet come back in beautiful thoughts."