We hardly dare pick them, but we feel compelled to do
so; and we smell and smell till the delight becomes almost pain. Afterward
we pull the green leaves softly into pieces to see the silk threads run
across.
Beyond the kopje grow some pale-green, hairy-leaved bushes. We are so
small, they meet over our head, and we sit among them, and kiss them, and
they love us back; it seems as though they were alive.
One day we sit there and look up at the blue sky, and down at our fat
little knees; and suddenly it strikes us, Who are we? This I, what is it?
We try to look in upon ourselves, and ourself beats back upon ourself.
Then we get up in great fear and run home as hard as we can. We can't tell
any one what frightened us. We never quite lose that feeling of self
again.
III.
And then a new time rises. We are seven years old. We can read now--read
the Bible. Best of all we like the story of Elijah in his cave at Horeb,
and the still small voice.
One day, a notable one, we read on the kopje, and discover the fifth
chapter of Matthew, and read it all through. It is a new gold-mine. Then
we tuck the Bible under our arm and rushed home. They didn't know it was
wicked to take your things again if some one took them, wicked to go to
law, wicked to--! We are quite breathless when we get to the house; we
tell them we have discovered a chapter they never heard of; we tell them
what it says.
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