earthen jug of milk.

"Eat, my child," she said.

She fell upon the food and it was like wine and meat to her. The blood
ran swiftly through her veins again and she forgot the terror and
fatigue and the cloud in her mind.

"You are most kind to me, mother," she said, for she had lived in the
old countries where it is easy to speak kindly to the old; "how do you
happen to live here? I should have died but for you. All my courage had
gone and it seemed that some terrible thing must be true, but I dared
not think what it might be. Now I am strong again and I will thank you
and go on."

"Where will you go, my child?" said the old woman.

She looked out of the door and saw that the wood was so dense that only
a dim light pierced through the boughs far above her head.

"It is always twilight here," said the old woman.

"But you can tell me the way, surely you know the way out?" she begged.

"I know my way," said the old woman, "but not your way. I come from the
other side."

"And how do you come?" she asked, almost fearfully, for something about
the old woman began to frighten her.

"I follow my bees," said the old woman.

"But I cannot wait for your bees," she cried, vexed and alarmed. "I must
get back--I was mad to have come here. I have work to do. Everything has
gone wrong with me since--since--oh, I must go back and get at my work!"

"And what is your work?" the old woman asked.

"I am an artist," she said.

"What is that?"

"I paint pictures," she said.

"Why do you do that?" asked the old woman.

"Why? Why?" she repeated. "Why does anyone do his work? Because I am
told by good workmen that I do it well, and that I shall every year do
it better. Because I would give up food and sleep for it. Because I
shall, if I live, some day do some one thing that will be remembered
after I am past all work."

"You will never do that with a picture," said the old woman quietly.

She stamped her foot upon the earthen floor.

"How dare you say so, you?" she cried. "What do you know of art or the
great world of cities beyond this horrible wood? What are you?"

"They call me the Bee-woman, in this part of the wood," she answered,
"but I have many duties. What are yours?"

"I have told you," she said sullenly, for under the other's eyes her own
fell.

"Not so," said the Bee-woman quickly, a hand on her shoulder, "you have
told me only your pleasures. I do not ask you for what you _would_
sacrifice food and s