Flower of the Dusk | Page 3

that blew up from the
sea. The Winter has been so long!"
"Did you make a song?"
[Sidenote: Always Make a Song]
"Yes--two. I'll tell you about them afterward. Always make a song,
Barbara, no matter what comes."
So the two talked, while the other woman watched them furtively. Her
face was that of one who has lived much in a short space of time and
her dark, burning eyes betrayed tragic depths of feeling. Her black hair,
slightly tinged with grey, was brushed straight back from her wrinkled

forehead. Her shoulders were stooped and her hands rough from hard
work.
She was the older sister of Ambrose North's dead wife--the woman he
had so devotedly loved. Ever since her sister's death, she had lived with
them, taking care of little lame Barbara, now grown into beautiful
womanhood, except for the crutches. After his blindness, Ambrose
North had lost his wife, and then, by slow degrees, his fortune.
Mercifully, a long illness had made him forget a great deal.
"Never mind, Barbara," said Miriam, in a low tone, as they rose from
the table. "It will make your hands too rough for the sewing."
"Shan't I wipe the dishes for you, Aunty? I'd just as soon."
"No--go with him."
The fire had gone down, but the room was warm, so Barbara turned up
the light and began again on her endless stitching. Her father's hands
sought hers.
"More sewing?" His voice was tender and appealing.
"Just a little bit, Father, please. I'm so anxious to get this done."
"But why, dear?"
"Because girls are so vain," she answered, with a laugh.
"Is my little girl vain?"
"Awfully. Hasn't she the dearest father in the world and the
prettiest"--she swallowed hard here--"the prettiest house and the
loveliest clothes? Who wouldn't be vain!"
"I am so glad," said the old man, contentedly, "that I have been able to
give you the things you want. I could not bear it if we were poor."
"You told me you had made two songs to-day, Father."

[Sidenote: Song of the River]
He drew closer to her and laid one hand upon the arm of her chair.
Quietly, she moved her crutches beyond his reach. "One is about the
river," he began.
"In Winter, a cruel fairy put it to sleep in an enchanted tower, far up in
the mountains, and walled up the door with crystal. All the while the
river was asleep, it was dreaming of the green fields and the soft,
fragrant winds.
"It tossed and murmured in its sleep, and at last it woke, too soon, for
the cruel fairy's spell could not have lasted much longer. When it found
the door barred, it was very sad. Then it grew rebellious and hurled
itself against the door, trying to escape, but the barrier only seemed
more unyielding. So, making the best of things, the river began to sing
about the dream.
"From its prison-house, it sang of the green fields and fragrant winds,
the blue violets that starred the meadow, the strange, singing harps of
the marsh grasses, and the wonder of the sea. A good fairy happened to
be passing, and she stopped to hear the song. She became so interested
that she wanted to see the singer, so she opened the door. The river
laughed and ran out, still singing, and carrying the door along. It never
stopped until it had taken every bit of the broken crystal far out to sea."
"I made one, too, Father."
"What is it?"
[Sidenote: Song of the Flax]
"Mine is about the linen. Once there was a little seed put away into the
darkness and covered deep with earth. But there was a soul in the seed,
and after the darkness grew warm it began to climb up and up, until one
day it reached the sunshine. After that, it was so glad that it tossed out
tiny, green branches and finally its soul blossomed into a blue flower.
Then a princess passed, and her hair was flaxen and her eyes were the

colour of the flower.
"The flower said, 'Oh, pretty Princess, I want to go with you.'
"The princess answered, 'You would die, little Flower, if you were
picked,' and she went on.
"But one day the Reaper passed and the little blue flower and all its
fellows were gathered. After a terrible time of darkness and pain, the
flower found itself in a web of sheerest linen. There was much cutting
and more pain, and thousands of pricking stitches, then a beautiful
gown was made, all embroidered with the flax in palest blue and green.
And it was the wedding gown of the pretty princess, because her hair
was flaxen and her eyes the colour of the flower."
[Sidenote: Barbara]
"What colour is