When Yermah returned to Iaqua after spending the night in the cave with Akaza, he found a messenger from Kerœcia, inviting him to attend her birthday fête.
In addition to the autographed letter was an elaborately decorated flower-pot filled with a bunch of white, strawlike blossoms, on slender, cottony stems, with little or no foliage. To-day the French call this modest flower the “Immortelle”; the Spanish, in their soft language, say “Siempre Viva”; while in English, it is the “Everlasting.”
“Never ceasing to remember,” murmured the Dorado, as he examined the flowers and recognized their significance.
Yermah understood that Kerœcia had wished to send him a perfect plant, and had selected this, not only for its sentiment, but also because of its ability to stand the rough usage of a journey.
He undid the tiny roll of parchment tied to one of the stems.
It said: “Though I have not the loveliness of the rose, am I not grass from the garden where it grows?”
He kissed the written words and with his own hands carried the flower-pot into his private apartments. Never afterward, as long as he remained at Iaqua, was he without a sprig of this plant.
The first of August was Kerœcia’s birthday, and this particular celebration of the event was to be of unusual brilliancy. It was also the great harvest festival of the year which always brought forth elaborate preparations by the mountaineers.
The peculiar kettle-shape at the head of the Valley where Anokia was built, formed three sides of the amphitheater where the games were to be held.