it is
beautiful, and it pleases me. You can take my white hair for it, and
that is always something."

"Do you ask for nothing more?" asked she. "I will give you that gladly."
And she gave her beautiful hair, and received in exchange the old
Woman's white hair.

And then they went into the great hothouse of Death, where flowers and
trees were growing marvellously intertwined. There stood the fine
hyacinths under glass bells, some quite fresh, others somewhat sickly;
water snakes were twining about them, and black crabs clung tightly to
the stalks. There stood gallant palm-trees, oaks, and plantains, and
parsley and blooming thyme. Each tree and flower had its name; each was
a human life: the people were still alive, one in China, another in
Greenland, scattered about in the world. There were great trees thrust
into little pots, so that they stood quite crowded, and were nearly
bursting the pots; there was also many a little weakly flower in rich
earth, with moss round about it, cared for and tended. But the sorrowful
mother bent down over all the smallest plants, and heard the human heart
beating in each, and out of millions she recognized that of her child.

"That is it!" she cried, and stretched out her hands over a little
crocus flower, which hung down quite sick and pale.

"Do not touch the flower," said the old dame; "but place yourself here;
and when Death comes--I expect him every minute--then don't let him pull
up the plant, but threaten him that you will do the same to the other
plants; then he'll be frightened. He has to account for them all; not
one may be pulled up till he receives commission from Heaven."

And all at once there was an icy cold rush through the hall, and the
blind mother felt that Death was arriving.

"How did you find your way hither?" said he. "How have you been able to
come quicker than I?"

"I am a mother," she answered.

And Death stretched out his long hands toward the little delicate
flower; but she kept her hands tight about it, and held it fast; and yet
she was full of anxious care lest he should touch one of the leaves.
Then Death breathed upon her hands, and she felt that his breath was
colder than the icy wind; and her hands sank down powerless.

"You can do nothing against me," said Death.

"But the merciful God can," she replied.

"I only do what He commands," said Death. "I am his gardener. I take all
his trees and flowers, and transplant them into the great Parad