the dark winter night: so warm is the heart of
a sorrowing mother! And the Blackthorn Bush told her the way that she
should go.

Then she came to a great Lake, on which there were neither ships nor
boat. The Lake was not frozen enough to carry her, nor sufficiently open
to allow her to wade through, and yet she must cross it if she was to
find her child. Then she laid herself down to drink the Lake; and that
was impossible for any one to do. But the sorrowing mother thought that
perhaps a miracle might be wrought.

"No, that can never succeed," said the Lake. "Let us rather see how we
can agree. I'm fond of collecting pearls, and your eyes are the two
clearest I have ever seen: if you will weep them out into me I will
carry you over into the great greenhouse, where Death lives and
cultivates flowers and trees; each of these is a human life."

"Oh, what would I not give to get my child!" said the afflicted mother;
and she wept yet more, and her eyes fell into the depths of the Lake,
and became two costly pearls. But the Lake lifted her up, as if she sat
in a swing, and she was wafted to the opposite shore, where stood a
wonderful house, miles in length. One could not tell if it was a
mountain containing forests and caves, or a place that had been built.
But the poor mother could not see it, for she had wept her eyes out.

"Where shall I find Death, who went away with my little child?" she
asked.

"He has not arrived here yet," said an old gray-haired Woman, who was
going about and watching the hothouse of Death. "How have you found your
way here, and who helped you?"

"The good God has helped me," she replied. "He is merciful, and you will
be merciful too. Where shall I find my little child?"

"I do not know it," said the old Woman, "and you cannot see. Many
flowers and trees have faded this night, and Death will soon come and
transplant them. You know very well that every human being has his tree
of life, or his flower of life, just as each is arranged. They look
like other plants, but their hearts beat. Children's hearts can beat
too. Think of this. Perhaps you may recognize the beating of your
child's heart. But what will you give me if I tell you what more you
must do?"

"I have nothing more to give," said the afflicted mother. "But I will go
for you to the ends of the earth."

"I have nothing for you to do there," said the old Woman, "but you can
give me your long black hair. You must know yourself that