Then she grew more and more drowsy, and she laid her hand, with the
stocking over it, on the edge of the table, and leaned her head upon it.
And the voices of the children outside grew more and more dreamy, came now
far, now near; then she did not hear them, but she felt under her heart
where the ninth child lay. Bent forward and sleeping there, with the bees
flying about her head, she had a weird brain-picture; she thought the bees
lengthened and lengthened themselves out and became human creatures and
moved round and round her. Then one came to her softly, saying, "Let me
lay my hand upon thy side where the child sleeps. If I shall touch him he
shall be as I."
She asked, "Who are you?"
And he said, "I am Health. Whom I touch will have always the red blood
dancing in his veins; he will not know weariness nor pain; life will be a
long laugh to him."
"No," said another, "let me touch; for I am Wealth. If I touch him
material care shall not feed on him. He shall live on the blood and sinews
of his fellow-men, if he will; and what his eye lusts for, his hand will
have. He shall not know 'I want.'" And the child lay still like lead.
And another said, "Let me touch him: I am Fame. The man I touch, I lead
to a high hill where all men may see him. When he dies he is not
forgotten, his name rings down the centuries, each echoes it on to his
fellows. Think--not to be forgotten through the ages!"
And the mother lay breathing steadily, but in the brain-picture they
pressed closer to her.
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