One second so--then she picked up the net and
followed. At the blue-bordered pool she paused and half turned back,
then she closed her lips firmly and went on. It was nine o'clock when
Philip said good-bye, and started to town. His gay whistle floated to
them from the farthest corner of the Limberlost. Elnora complained of
being tired, so she went to her room and to bed. But sleep would not
come. Thought was racing in her brain and the longer she lay the wider
awake she grew. At last she softly slipped from bed, lighted her lamp
and began opening boxes. Then she went to work. Two hours later a
beautiful birch bark basket, strongly and artistically made, stood on
her table. She set a tiny alarm clock at three, returned to bed and fell
asleep instantly with a smile on her lips.
She was on the floor with the first tinkle of the alarm, and hastily
dressing, she picked up the basket and a box to fit it, crept down the
stairs, and out to the violet patch. She was unafraid as it was growing
light, and lining the basket with damp mosses she swiftly began picking,
with practised hands, the best of the flowers. She scarcely could
tell which were freshest at times, but day soon came creeping over the
Limberlost and peeped at her. The robins awoke all their neighbours, and
a babel of bird notes filled the air. The dew was dripping, while the
first strong rays of light fell on a world in which Elnora worshipped.
When the basket was filled to overflowing, she set it in the stout
pasteboard box, packed it solid with mosses, tied it firmly and slipped
under the cord a note she had written the previous night.
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