at it. It was she that walked with me most often in the path to
the Source. She went out with me to the fields in the morning
and almost every day found wild-flowers that were new to me.
At sunset she drew me to happy games of youths and children,
where her fancy was never tired of weaving new turns to the
familiar pastimes. In the dusk she would sit beside me in an
arbour of honeysuckle and question me about the flower that I
was seeking,--for to her I had often spoken of my quest.

"Is it blue," she asked, "as blue as the speedwell that
grows beside the brook?"

"Yes, it is as much bluer than the speedwell, as the river
is deeper than the brook."

"And is it she asked, "as bright as the drops of dew in
the moonlight?"

"Yes, it is brighter than the drops of dew as the sun is
clearer than the moon."

"And is it sweet," she asked, "as sweet as the honeysuckle
when the day is warm and still?"

"Yes, it is as much sweeter than the honeysuckle as the
night is stiller and more sweet than the day."

"Tell me again," she asked, "when you saw it, and why do
you seek it?"