antle had been spread over it.

Walpurga looked about her in all directions, and then, undressing
herself in a trice, jumped into the lake. She dived and rose again,
brushed her hair from her face and plashed about, as happy as if she
were a fish at the bottom of the lake. The golden mantle of the lake
assumed a purple hue, and Walpurga looked up at the purple sun, and
over the glowing lake. "Thus it is," said she, "and thus it's right.
I'm here again and yours again, and everything else is put away from
me. I've never been away." Under the clustering willows, she hurriedly
dressed herself, and felt so happy and cheerful that it cost her an
effort to refrain from singing aloud. Blue and green dragon-flies
hovered over the water. Swallows were flying over the lake and dipping
their bills into the waters, which were gradually acquiring a paler
hue, and from yonder forest resounded the cuckoo's note. A stork among
the reeds seemed to watch Walpurga while she dressed herself. She
noticed the bird rattling its great bill and waved it away. She hurried
back to the house. The finch in the cherry-tree was still warbling its
morning song, the two cows in the stable were lowing, but everything
else about the house was still wrapped in silence. For a long while,
Walpurga stood gazing at the flowers on the window-sill, and was
delighted with the fragrance of the pinks and the rosemary. She had
planted them while still a child, and before she had had a garden of
her own. All the earth that she could then call her own, was contained
in these flower-pots. Now she was able to buy many abroad field, but
who could say whether they would give her as much joy as she now
derived from these dingy, broken pots.

It seemed as if the pinks had purposely blossomed, in honor of the
return of her who had planted and cared for them. There were scarcely
any buds left, but even these few were putting out their little red
tongues. Walpurga returned to her pinks again and again, and could not
get enough of their fragrance. Suddenly, she laughed to herself at the
thought of an old story that her mother had told her about blessed
Susanna, who, when hungry and thirsty, could satisfy herself by
smelling a flower. "Yes, but that wouldn't satisfy my folks," said she
with a smile, and went back into the house.

Mother, husband and child were still asleep. Walpurga sat by the cradle
for a little while. Then she went out to the kitchen, and kindled the
first