The Story of a mother, part 4
"There it is!" cried she, and stretched her hands out over a little blue crocus, that hung quite sickly on one side.
"Don't touch the flower!" said the old woman. "But place yourself here, and when Death comes--I expect him every moment--do not let him pluck the flower up, but threaten him that you will do the same with the others. Then he will be afraid! He is responsible for them to OUR LORD, and no one dares to pluck them up before HE gives leave." All at once an icy cold rushed through the great hall, and the blind mother could feel that it was Death that came.
"How hast thou been able to find thy way hither?" he asked. "How couldst thou come quicker than I?" "I am a mother," said she. And Death stretched out his long hand towards the fine little flower, but she held her hands fast around his, so tight, and yet afraid that she should touch one of the leaves. Then Death blew on her hands, and she felt that it was colder than the cold wind, and her hands fell down powerless.
"Thou canst not do anything against me!" said Death.
"But OUR LORD can!" said she.
"I only do His bidding!" said Death.
"I am His gardener, I take all His flowers and trees, and plant them out in the great garden of Paradise, in the unknown land; but how they grow there, and how it is there I dare not tell thee." "Give me back my child!" said the mother, and she wept and prayed. At once she seized hold of two beautiful flowers close by, with each hand, and cried out to Death, "I will tear all thy flowers off, for I am in despair." "Touch them not!" said Death.
"Thou say'st that thou art so unhappy, and now thou wilt make another mother equally unhappy." "Another mother!" said the poor woman, and directly let go her hold of both the flowers.
