WHITE BIRCHES
that it would be better for you to face the truth.... But which one of us knows the Truth? Not a man among us. And I came across this ... 'Thou fool, that which thou sowest is not quickened except it die. ...' We are all fools—the wisest of us. ..."
She held out her arms to him, and he gathered her close. She felt that it had been a thousand years since she had prayed, yet she heard herself speaking ... And when he laid her back upon her pillows, she was aware that together they had approached some height from which they would never again descend.
"I'll leave the door open," he said, as he left her. "I shall be reading, and you can see the light."
It seemed as if the light from his room flooded the world. The four posts of her bed once more were tipped with shining saints! She turned on her pillow—beyond the garden, the grove of white birches was steeped in celestial radiance.
"My little sister, Death," said good St. Francis.
With her hand under her cheek, she slept at last, as peacefully as a child.
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