Branches clash together in the forest, and the leaves rustle in
the wild wind, the thunder-clouds clap their giant hands and the
flower children rush out in dresses of pink and yellow and white.

Do you know, mother, their home is in the sky, where the stars
are.

Haven't you seen how eager they are to get there? Don't you know
why they are in such a hurry?

Of course, I can guess to whom they raise their arms: they have
their mother as I have my own.




[Illustration: From a drawing by Asit Kumar Haldar--see
cmerchant.jpg]


THE MERCHANT


Imagine, mother, that you are to stay at home and I am to travel
into strange lands.

Imagine that my boat is ready at the landing fully laden.

Now think well, mother, before you say what I shall bring for you
when I come back.