But at this Mevrouw gave an exclamation; the idea of his going out in such weather was terrible, she said, and she said it a good many times.

Julia bent over her work; she heard the swish of the rain on the window, the uneven sob of the fitful wind; she heard the old people talk, the husband persist, the wife protest.  She did not look up; her eyes were fixed on her needle, but she hardly saw it; more plainly she saw the dark barns, the crowded shelves, the place where the blue daffodils were.  She could find them with perfect ease; could choose one in the dark as easily as Mijnheer himself; she could substitute for it another, one of the common sort of the same shape and size; no one would be the wiser; even when it bloomed, with the simple yellow flower that has beautified spring woods so long, no one would know it was not a sport of nature, a throw back to the original parent.  It was the simplest thing in all the world; the safest.  Not that that recommended it; she would rather it had been difficult or dangerous, it would have savoured more of a fair fight and less of trickery.  Besides, such safety was nothing; anything can be made safe with care and forethought.

She caught her own name in the talk now; husband and wife were speaking lower, evidently arguing as to the propriety of asking her to go the rounds; for a moment she pretended not to hear, then she raised her head, contempt for her own weakness in her mind.  It is not opportunity that makes thieves of thinking folk, and she knew it; rather it is the thief that makes opportunity, if he is up to his work.  Why should she be afraid to go to the barns?  She would not take the daffodil the more for going; if she meant to do it, and, through cowardice, let this opportunity slip, she would soon find another.  And if she did not mean to, the proximity of the thing would not make her take it.

She put down her work.  “I will lock up for you, Mijnheer; give me the keys.”

He protested, and his wife protested, much more feebly, and thanked her for going the while.  They gave her many directions, and told her she must put on this, that, and the other, and must be careful not to get her feet wet, and really need not to be too particular in examining all the doors.  She answered them with impatient politeness, as one does who is waiting for the advent of a greater matter; she was not irritated by the trivial interruptions which came between her and the decision which was yet to be made; it was somehow so great to her that it seemed as if it could wait.  At last she was off, Mijnheer’s galoshes wallowing about her feet, his black-caped mackintosh thrown round her shoulders.  She had neither hat nor umbrella.  Mevrouw literally wailed when she started; but it made no impression, she came of the nation most indifferent to getting wet, and most-susceptible to death by consumption of any in Europe.