Page:Poet Lore, volume 21, 1910.djvu/457

 instance, in the reverend father’s room behind the crucifix are those palm leaves from last Palm Sunday, just as they were years ago. I never thought of those palm leaves or that crucifix at all, but as soon as I saw it, I immediately remembered a funny incident, and it seemed to me that it must have happened but recently.

Petr.—And what was that, please?

Maya.—You will laugh when I tell you. You once told me that these consecrated palm leaves were awfully healthy and that we ought to eat them to keep well. And you started to climb for them right then and there. I was helping you and in our hurry we broke a little box which your uncle had as a keepsake and then we got it—both of us—I can tell you.

Petr (with a smile).—Really?

Maya (nodding).—And after we were punished, you said all of a sudden: “Well, only wait, Marenka, wait until I grow up and marry you, then I would not let any one harm you.”

Petr (extremely embarrassed).—I said that?

Maya.—I hope that you are not angry with me for having spoken of it? Tell me, is it possible that it was so long ago?

Petr (suddenly).—And Miss Maya, why do you remind me of all these things now?

Maya (surprised).—Ach. Forgive me. I never for a moment thought that it would have a different effect upon you than as a mere foolish memory of childhood. Pardon me for that—you are a priest, and to you such recollections, even though ever so innocent, seem sinful and undignified.

Petr (quickly).—But, no, no! That would be foolish on my part, if such trifling thought impressed me in that way.

Maya.—Still it seems that I should not have spoken about it.

Petr (quietly).—You should not have.

Maya.—And why?

Petr.—Because it hurts me. (Quickly changing the subject.) But quite differently than you would think. The life that I have led hitherto hurts me as it never has before.

Maya (sincerely).—Life hurts every one, my friend.

Petr.—Ach. No, no, Miss Maya, it does not hurt you. To you it has fulfilled itself so richly and beautifully, it gave you even more than you yourself wanted, and to me it did not even give that modest little I longed for.

Maya.—You told me yourself the other day that you would