“Art thou poor, yet hast thou golden slumbers? O sweet content! Art thou rich, yet is thy mind perplex’d? O punishment! Dost thou laugh to see how fools are vex’d To add to golden numbers, golden numbers? O sweet content! Work apace, apace, apace, apace; Honest labour bears a lovely face. Canst drink the waters of the crispèd spring? O sweet content! Swim’st thou in wealth, yet sink’st in thine own tears? O punishment! Then he that happily wants burden bears, No burden bears, but is a king, a king. O sweet content! Work apace, apace, apace, apace; Honest labour bears a lovely face.” Soon the children grew able to help in the preparation of the herbs. They learned to know their names and uses. After Granny had sorted the sweet-smelling sprigs Faith would tie them, and prepare them for drying or soaking in hot water, as it might be. “This is good for burns,” the old woman would say as she sorted them. “And this for the palsy. But did you ever think what a precious herb that would be, could one but find it, that would save folk from growing old? There are pastes and ointments against wrinkles, there are soft washes for the skin, but there’s nothing that grows that can save the hair turning grey at the end of a lifetime--no, nor a flower, or herb, that can give back the flower of youth. And that brings to memory a strange dream I had; but this time it was read to me from a book. The words weren’t mine, my dears; and the voice that read it to me was strange to me; and the book that held the story was bound in covers of horn. There’s meaning here for those who can find it, for I’ve heard there are two gates that our dreams pass through. If they pass the Gate of Ivory, they are false dreams, but if they pass through the Gate of Horn, they are true. “Now the voice that was telling me this story was gentle, and I seemed to have been listening to it for a long, long time. “Once there reigned a king over a great country, it was saying, ruler over many tribes. He had wise councillors and many riches, but the chief of his treasure lay in a house apart from the palace, where he passed the choicest of his days. Here dwelt the nymph Ia, by whom he set great store. Deeply versed was she in the art of witchery, the sound of her voice was like bells harmoniously according, and when she danced her feet moved like white pigeons over the floor. In this house there was a great store of rubies, so that a man might take them up in both hands, yet was the casket filled. Gold was here, and ivory, chrysoprase, jasper and chalcedony, and curious images from other lands. Robes of great price were here, robes that might have been woven of the sea in moonlight, or fashioned of the night sky, pointed with many stars.