He opened the larger one and took from it an arm load of white lilies that he carried up the hill and divided between the mounds under the oak.

Then he uncovered his head, and standing at the foot of them he looked among the boughs of the big tree and listened intently.
After a time a soft, warm wind, catkin-scented, crept from the lake, and began a murmur among the clusters of brown leaves clinging to the branches.
"Mother," said the Harvester, "were you with me?
Did I do it right?
Did I tell them what you would have had me say for the boys?
Are you glad now you held me to the narrow way?
Do you want me to go before men if I am asked, as Doc says I will be, and tell them that the only way to abolish pain is for them to begin at the foundation by living clean lives?
I don't know if I did any good, but they listened to me.

Anyway, I did the best I knew.

But that isn't strange; you ground it into me to do that every day, until it is almost an instinct.

Mother, dear, can you tell me about the bluebird?
Is that softest little rustle of all your voice?
and does it say 'hope'?
I think so, and I thank you for the word." The man's eyes dropped to earth.
"And you other mother," he said, "have you any message for me?
Up where you are can you sweep the world with understanding eyes and tell me why my bluebird does not come?
Does it know that this year your child and not chance must settle my fate?
Can you look across space and see if she is even thinking of me?
But I know that! She had to be thinking of me when she wrote that line.