are faded," he said. "I have tasted your fruits, every
one, and your precious herbs are but a handful of dry leaves and stalks.
But the lovely lady who holds out her hands to me from the doorway tells
me of things unknown, dim lands of furthest dawn, seas that no bark has
ever sailed. I will go with her and see them, and live my life."

"Nay now, my child, my darling; stay with me by the fire, in the warm
sheltered room;" said Yesterday the nurse, the wise old woman.

But the child was already gone, with To-morrow, the lovely lady with
sunrise in her eyes, laughter on her lips, and the knife hidden in her
hand.

WORMWOOD

All the morning the child ran about his field, smelling the sweet,
tasting the sweet, plucking the bright and gay; and as he plucked and
smelled and tasted, he found among the strawberries a dusky leaf that
was bitter in his mouth. "What is this?" he asked of the Angel beside
him; and the Angel said, "It is wormwood!"

"Pluck it all up!" cried the child. "It is bitter and hateful; I will
have nought in my field but strawberries and roses."

And the Angel smiled, with folded hands.

Noon came, and afternoon, with long rays sloping westward; and the child
walked in his field with slow and thoughtful steps. There were no
flowers now in the grass, but everywhere a dusky leaf with dusky
berries; and the air was full of the fragrance of them, sweet and yet
bitter; bitter, yet oh, how sweet!

"What is this," the child asked, "that is bitter, and yet sweeter than
aught else in the world?"

And the Angel said, "It is wormwood!"

THE PIT

"_Though I make my bed in Hell...._"

It was dark in the Pit. The air was heavy with poisonous vapors; the
walls were foul with the slime of uncounted generations; under foot was
the horror of the ages; yet still the man slept, for he was used to the
place, and his brain sodden with the fumes of it. But by and by, as he
slept, a sound crept into his ears, a weary, crying voice that went on
and on and would not still; till the man stirred uneasily in his sleep,
and awoke with the sound in his ears.

"Who is this," he said, "that breaks my slumber?"

He hearkened, and the voice went crying on:

"Oh! the blackness and the horror! oh! the dreadful, dreadful place!
will none help me out?"

"What ails you at the place?" asked the man. "One sleeps well enough, if
folk would but be quiet."

And the voice went clamoring on; the piteousness of it mig