DREAMS By Olive Schreiner To a small girl-child, who may live to grasp somewhat of that which for us is yet sight, not touch. Note. These Dreams are printed in the order in which they were written. In the case of two there was a lapse of some years between the writing of the first and last parts; these are placed according to the date of the first part. Olive Schreiner. Matjesfontein, Cape Colony, South Africa. November, 1890. CONTENTS. I. The Lost Joy. II. The Hunter (From “The Story of of an African Farm”). III. The Gardens of Pleasure. IV. In a Far-off World. V. Three Dreams in a Desert. VI. A Dream of Wild Bees (Written as a letter to a friend). VII. In a Ruined Chapel. VIII. Life’s Gifts. IX. The Artist’s Secret. X. “I Thought I Stood.” XI. The Sunlight Lay across My Bed. I. THE LOST JOY. All day, where the sunlight played on the sea-shore, Life sat. All day the soft wind played with her hair, and the young, young face looked out across the water. She was waiting--she was waiting; but she could not tell for what. All day the waves ran up and up on the sand, and ran back again, and the pink shells rolled. Life sat waiting; all day, with the sunlight in her eyes, she sat there, till, grown weary, she laid her head upon her knee and fell asleep, waiting still. Then a keel grated on the sand, and then a step was on the shore--Life awoke and heard it. A hand was laid upon her, and a great shudder passed through her. She looked up, and saw over her the strange, wide eyes of Love--and Life now knew for whom she had sat there waiting. And Love drew Life up to him. And of that meeting was born a thing rare and beautiful--Joy, First-Joy was it called. The sunlight when it shines upon the merry water is not so glad; the rosebuds, when they turn back their lips for the sun’s first kiss, are not so ruddy. Its tiny pulses beat quick. It was so warm, so soft! It never spoke, but it laughed and played in the sunshine: and Love and Life rejoiced exceedingly. Neither whispered it to the other, but deep in its own heart each said, “It shall be ours for ever.” Then there came a time--was it after weeks? was it after months? (Love and Life do not measure time)--when the thing was not as it had been. Still it played; still it laughed; still it stained its mouth with purple berries; but sometimes the little hands hung weary, and the little eyes looked out heavily across the water. And Life and Love dared not look into each other’s eyes, dared not say, “What ails our darling?” Each heart whispered to itself, “It is nothing, it is nothing, tomorrow it will laugh out clear.” But tomorrow and tomorrow came. They journeyed on, and the child played beside them, but heavily, more heavily.