hauling in the fishing-nets; it sat among the rushes and began to
sing.

"No," said the farmer's brother, "I must provide food for my family,
otherwise my children will cry with hunger. Later on! Later on,
I tell you! Let's live first and die afterwards."


***

And the dove flew to the pretty cottage, where the unhappy little
mother had taken rooms for the summer. She sat on the verandah,
working at a sewing machine; her face was as white as a lily, and
her red felt hat looked like a huge poppy on her hair, which was
as black as a mourning veil. She was busy making a pinafore which
her little girl was to wear on Midsummer Eve, and the child sat at
her feet on the floor, cutting up little pieces of material which
were not wanted.

"Why isn't daddy coming home?" asked the little girl, looking up.

That was a very difficult question, so difficult that the young
mother could not answer it; and very possibly daddy could not have
answered it either, for he was far away in a foreign country with
his grief, which was twice as great as mammy's.

The sewing machine was not in good order, but it stitched and
stitched; it made as many pricks as a human heart can bear before
it breaks, but every prick only served to pull the thread tighter--it
was curious!