Sorrow entered amazed. She did not often hear this greeting. Of a sudden she found herself encircled by soft arms, and the wondrous woman took her on her lap, kissed her, and said—
"Dear Sorrow, you had to find me; I might not seek you, for I never come uncalled. I am Mother Patience, and I sit here and listen and watch. The lake bears to me the voices of all those who call me. Often and often have I stepped in your footprints, but alas! not ever."
The furrow in her brow deepened as she spoke these last words. Sorrow laid her head on this motherly breast.
"Oh, go with me, ever and ever," she craved, softly.
"No, child! when you call me then I will come, and when you are weary turn in here. I have to write the Book of Life; that gives me much to do."
Poor little Sorrow remained all night with the wise mother, and next morning she went on her journey refreshed and strengthened. The whole earth was blooming and green, for it was harvest time. Sorrow looked at the poppies and the corn flowers and thought—
"You poor things! now you are blooming so merrily and gleaming in the sunshine, and yet to-day you will all be mown down."
Then she perceived a burly maiden, who stood alone in a field, and mowed as fast as three men.
"Good morning, pale one," she called to Sorrow, in roguish tones. "Come here, and help me."
And so speaking she ran towards her, her locks flying and her blue eyes laughing like sunshine.