They knew
about the storm that was coming. Now and then Flax heard the leaves
talking in queer little rustling voices. She inherited the ability to
understand what they said from her father. They were talking to each
other now in the words of her father's song. Very likely he had heard
them saying it sometime, and that was how he happened to know it,
"O what is it shineth so golden-clear
At the rainbow's foot on the dark green hill?"
Flax heard the maple leaves inquire. And the pine-leaves answered
back:
"'Tis the Pot of Gold, that for many a year
Has shone, and is shining and dazzling still."
Then the maple-leaves asked:
"And whom is it for, O Pilgrim, pray?"
And the pine-leaves answered:
"For thee, Sweetheart, should'st thou go that way."
Flax did not exactly understand the sense of the last question and
answer between maple and pine-leaves. But they kept on saying it
over and over as she ran along. She was going straight to the tall
pine-tree. She knew just where it was, for she had often been there.
Now the rain-drops began to splash through the green boughs, and the
thunder rolled along the sky. The leaves all tossed about in a strong
wind and their soft rustles grew into a roar, and the branches and the
whole tree caught it up and called out so loud as they writhed and
twisted about that Flax was almost deafened, the words of the song:
"O what is it shineth so golden-clear?"
Flax sped along through the wind and the rain and the thunder.
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