The Blue Flower

The parents were abed and sleeping. The clock on the wall ticked loudly and lazily, as if ithad time to spare. Outside the rattling windows there was a restless, whispering wind. Theroom grew light, and dark, and wondrous light again, as the moon played hide-and-seekthrough the clouds. The boy, wide-awake and quiet in his bed, was thinking of the Strangerand his stories."It was not what he told me about the treasures," he said to himself, "that was not thething which filled me with so strange a longing. I am not greedy for riches. But the BlueFlower is what I long for. I can think of nothing else. Never have I felt so before. It seems asif I had been dreaming until now-or as if I had just slept over into a new world.