plasters on my chest? Go to bed now, do you say? No, no, my dear, I
will sit here; I am comfortable enough; I read my paper, I smoke my
cigar; by and by, I go out to see that my barns are all safe for the
night."

But at this Mevrouw gave an exclamation; the idea of his going out in
such weather was terrible, she said, and she said it a good many
times.

Julia bent over her work; she heard the swish of the rain on the
window, the uneven sob of the fitful wind; she heard the old people
talk, the husband persist, the wife protest. She did not look up; her
eyes were fixed on her needle, but she hardly saw it; more plainly she
saw the dark barns, the crowded shelves, the place where the blue
daffodils were. She could find them with perfect ease; could choose
one in the dark as easily as Mijnheer himself; she could substitute
for it another, one of the common sort of the same shape and size; no
one would be the wiser; even when it bloomed, with the simple yellow
flower that has beautified spring woods so long, no one would know it
was not a sport of nature, a throw back to the original parent. It was
the simplest thing in all the world; the safest. Not that that
recommended it; she would rather it had been difficult or dangerous,
it would have savoured more of a fair fight and less of trickery.
Besides, such safety was nothing; anything can be made safe with care
and forethought.

She caught her own name in the talk now; husband and wife were
speaking lower, evidently arguing as to the propriety of asking her to
go the rounds; for a moment she pretended not to hear, then she raised
her head, contempt for her own weakness in her mind. It is not