The Rainbow-Maker

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“The kids remained under an entrance. Behind them was the blue sky; before them the unmistakable, still lake that meandered and twisted about the patio nursery; over their heads the leaves of a tree whispered and advised weird stories to the breeze.

“Poor tree! It is moaning for the blooms the wind has diverted,” they said to one another, and they glanced back at the patio nursery. “Furthermore, poor blossoms, as well,” they said, “all your brilliant hues are gone, and your petals untruth scattered on the ground; to-morrow they will be dead.” “Ah, no,” the blooms moaned, “the rainbow-producer will assemble them up, and afresh they will see the sun.”
Before the kids could reply, a tall reasonable lady descended the pathway. They could see her doubtlessly in the dusk. Her eyes were faint with get-together tears, however on her lips there was a grin that went back and forth and glinted round her mouth. All down her back hung her pale brilliant hair; round her neck was a hanky of numerous hues ; her dress was delicate and white, and her blanketed over-skirt was gotten together in one hand. She looked neither to one side nor to one side.

She didn’t express a solitary word; and the kids could hear no solid of her stride, no stirring from her dress. She stooped, and grabbing the blurring petals, took a gander at them delicately for a minute, while the tears fell gradually down her cheeks ; however the grin floated round her mouth; for she realized that they would sparkle again in seeing their darling sun. When her cover was full, she turned round and left the greenery enclosure.

As an inseparable unit the youngsters took after. She went gradually on by the side of the lake, far, far away over the glades and up the most distant slope, until finally she discovered her home behind a cloud simply inverse the sun. There she sat all through the late spring days making rainbows. At the point when the youngsters had viewed her for quite a while, they went delicately back to their own home. The rainbow-maker had not even seen them.

“Mother,” they said one day, “we know now where the hues go from the blooms. It’s obvious, they are there,” and as they talked they thought about the lady sitting quietly at work in her cloud-home. They realized that she was sobbing at sending forward her most delightful one, but then grinning as she viewed the delicate passage she had made. “It’s just plain obvious, they are all there, dear mother,” the youngsters rehashed, taking a gander at the falling precipitation and the sparkling sun, and indicating the rainbow that traversed the waterway.

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