asked he; "how could youcome here faster than I have?"
  "I am a mother," she answered.
  And Death stretched out his hand towards the delicate littleflower; but she held her hands tightly round it, and held it fast atsame time, with the most anxious care, lest she should touch one ofthe leaves. Then Death breathed upon her hands, and she felt hisbreath colder than the icy wind, and her hands sank down powerless.
  "You cannot prevail against me," said Death.
  "But a God of mercy can," said she.
  "I only do His will," replied Death. "I am his gardener. I takeall His flowers and trees, and transplant them into the gardens ofParadise in an unknown land. How they flourish there, and what thatgarden resembles, I may not tell you."
  "Give me back my child," said the mother, weeping and imploring;and she seized two beautiful flowers in her hands, and cried to Death,"I will tear up all your flowers, for I am in despair."
  "Do not touch them," said Death. "You say you are unhappy; andwould you make another mother as unhappy as yourself?"
  "Another mother!" cried the poor woman, setting the flowers freefrom her hands.
  "There are your eyes," said Death. "I fished them up out of thelake for you. They were shining brightly; but I knew not they wereyours. Take them back- they are clearer now than before- and then lookinto the deep well which is close by here. I will tell you the namesof the two flowers which you wished to pull up; and you will see thewhole future of the human beings they represent, and what you wereabout to frustrate and destroy."
  Then she looked into the well; and it was a glorious sight tobehold how one of them became a blessing to the world, and how muchhappiness and joy it spread around. But she saw that the life of theother was full of care and poverty, misery and woe.
  "Both are the will of God," said Death.
  "Which is the unhappy flower, and which is the blessed one?" shesaid.
  "That I may not tell you," said Death; "but thus far you maylearn, that one of the two flowers represents your own child. It wasthe fate of your child that you saw,- the future of your own child."
  Then the mother screamed aloud with terror, "Which of them belongsto my child? Tell me that. Deliver the unhappy child. Release itfrom so much misery. Rather take it away. Take it to the kingdom ofGod. Forget my tears and my entreaties; forget all that I have said ordone."
  "I do not understand you," said Death. "Will you have your childback? or shall I carry him away to a place that you do not know?"
  Then the mother wrung her hands, fell on her knees, and prayedto God, "Grant not my prayers, when they are contrary to Thy will,which at all times must be the best. Oh, hear them not;" and herhead sank on her bosom.
  Then Death carried away her child to the unknown land.
  THE END.
  1872
  FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN
  THE STORY OF THE WIND
  by Hans Christian Andersen
  "NEAR the shores of the great Belt, which is one of the straitsthat connect the Cattegat with the Baltic, stands an old mansionwith thick red walls. I know every stone of it," says the Wind. "I sawit when it was part of the castle of Marck Stig on the promontory. Butthe castle was obliged to be pulled down, and the stone was used againfor the walls of a new mansion on another spot- the baronial residenceof Borreby, which still stands near the coast. I knew them well, thosenoble lords and ladies, the successive generations that dwelt there;and now I'm going to tell you of Waldemar Daa and his daughters. Howproud was his bearing, for he was of royal blood, and could boast ofmore noble deeds than merely hunting the stag and emptying thewine-cup. His rule was despotic: 'It shall be,' he was accustomed tosay. His wife, in garments embroidered with gold, stepped proudly overthe polished marble floors. The tapestries were gorgeous, and thefurniture of costly and artistic taste. She had brought gold and platewith her into the house. The cellars were full of wine. Black, fieryhorses, neighed in the stables. There was a look of wealth about thehouse of Borreby at that time. They had three children, daughters,fair and delicate maidens- Ida, Joanna, and Anna Dorothea; I havenever forgotten their names. They were a rich, noble family, born inaffluence and nurtured in luxury.
  "Whir-r-r, whir-r-r!"