Oh, dear
me! but you're not a very good needlewoman, are you, Barnabas?
Neither am I--I always prick my fingers dreadfully. There--let me
open it for you--so! Now, while I hold it, see what is inside."
Then, wondering, Barnabas slipped a clumsy thumb and finger into the
little bag and behold the faded wisp had become transfigured and
bloomed again in all its virgin freshness. For in his hand there lay
a great, scarlet rose, as sweet and fresh and fragrant as
though--for all the world as though it had been plucked that very
morning.
"Ah, no, no, no," cried the Duchess, reading his look, "it was no
hand of mine worked the transformation, dear Barnabas."
"But," murmured drowsy Barnabas, speaking with an effort--
"it--was--dead--long ago--?"
"Yet behold it is alive again!" said the Duchess. "And oh, Barnabas
dear, if a withered, faded wisp may bloom again--so may a woman's
faith and love. There, there, dear boy! Close your eyes and go to
sleep again."
So, being very weary, Barnabas closed his eyes and, with the touch
of her small, cool fingers in his hair, fell fast asleep.
II
Now as Barnabas lay thus, lost in slumber, he dreamed a dream.
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