The plant heard and rejoiced. "To heal!" it said. "That is even better than to gladden the eyes. The Giver of this too be praised!"
Now it was winter. The dry stalk stood in the field, and crackled with the frost, its few remaining leaves clinging black and shrivelled about it.
"All is over now," said the plant. "There must be an end to everything."
But now came a poor soul shivering with the cold, and took the dry plant and carried it to his home; and breaking it in pieces, laid the fragments on his naked hearth and set fire to them. Puff! the dry stalks crackled into flame and blazed up merrily, filling the room with light and warmth.
"And is this death?" said the plant. "The Giver of all be praised!"
Transcriber's Note
- Original drop capitals beginning each chapter retained as images, with represented letter included in text.