sheasked.
  "Yes," replied the thorn-bush; "but I will not tell you whichway he has taken until you have warmed me in your bosom. I am freezingto death here, and turning to ice."
  Then she pressed the bramble to her bosom quite close, so thatit might be thawed, and the thorns pierced her flesh, and greatdrops of blood flowed; but the bramble shot forth fresh greenleaves, and they became flowers on the cold winter's night, so warm isthe heart of a sorrowing mother. Then the bramble-bush told her thepath she must take. She came at length to a great lake, on which therewas neither ship nor boat to be seen. The lake was not frozensufficiently for her to pass over on the ice, nor was it open enoughfor her to wade through; and yet she must cross it, if she wished tofind her child. Then she laid herself down to drink up the water ofthe lake, which was of course impossible for any human being to do;but the bereaved mother thought that perhaps a miracle might takeplace to help her. "You will never succeed in this," said the lake;let us make an agreement together which will be better. I love tocollect pearls, and your eyes are the purest I have ever seen. Ifyou will weep those eyes away in tears into my waters, then I willtake you to the large hothouse where Death dwells and rears flowersand trees, every one of which is a human life."
  "Oh, what would I not give to reach my child!" said the weepingmother; and as she still continued to weep, her eyes fell into thedepths of the lake, and became two costly pearls.
  Then the lake lifted her up, and wafted her across to the oppositeshore as if she were on a swing, where stood a wonderful building manymiles in length. No one could tell whether it was a mountain coveredwith forests and full of caves, or whether it had been built. Butthe poor mother could not see, for she had wept her eyes into thelake. "Where shall I find Death, who went away with my littlechild?" she asked.
  "He has not arrived here yet," said an old gray-haired woman,who was walking about, and watering Death's hothouse. "How have youfound your way here? and who helped you?"
  "God has helped me," she replied. "He is merciful; will you not bemerciful too? Where shall I find my little child?"
  "I did not know the child," said the old woman; "and you areblind. Many flowers and trees have faded to-night, and Death will sooncome to transplant them. You know already that every human being has alife-tree or a life-flower, just as may be ordained for him. They looklike other plants; but they have hearts that beat. Children's heartsalso beat: from that you may perhaps be able to recognize yourchild. But what will you give me, if I tell you what more you willhave to do?
  "I have nothing to give," said the afflicted mother; "but Iwould go to the ends of the earth for you."
  "I can give you nothing to do for me there," said the old woman;"but you can give me your long black hair. You know yourself that itis beautiful, and it pleases me. You can take my white hair inexchange, which will be something in return."
  "Do you ask nothing more than that?" said she. "I will give itto you with pleasure."
  And she gave up her beautiful hair, and received in return thewhite locks of the old woman. Then they went into Death's vasthothouse, where flowers and trees grew together in wonderfulprofusion. Blooming hyacinths, under glass bells, and peonies, likestrong trees. There grew water-plants, some quite fresh, and otherslooking sickly, which had water-snakes twining round them, and blackcrabs clinging to their stems. There stood noble palm-trees, oaks, andplantains, and beneath them bloomed thyme and parsley. Each tree andflower had a name; each represented a human life, and belonged tomen still living, some in China, others in Greenland, and in all partsof the world. Some large trees had been planted in little pots, sothat they were cramped for room, and seemed about to burst the potto pieces; while many weak little flowers were growing in rich soil,with moss all around them, carefully tended and cared for. Thesorrowing mother bent over the little plants, and heard the humanheart beating in each, and recognized the beatings of her child'sheart among millions of others.
  "That is it," she cried, stretching out her hand towards alittle crocus-flower which hung down its sickly head.
  "Do not touch the flower," exclaimed the old woman; "but placeyourself here; and when Death comes- I expect him every minute- do notlet him pull up that plant, but threaten him that if he does youwill serve the other flowers in the same manner. This will make himafraid; for he must account to God for each of them. None can beuprooted, unless he receives permission to do so."
  There rushed through the hothouse a chill of icy coldness, and theblind mother felt that Death had arrived.
  "How did you find your way hither?"