is enfolded again in his dear mothers arms.
The flute ceased. Midnight struck in the silence. Eight sons followed the song in their minds. They seemed to see gleaming in their distant birthplace, not the golden fern blossom, but another flower, tar more precious. It was the most beautiful flower ever to be found on earth. It blooms not only once a year, but blossoms every day; in all loyalty, it shields one from the cradle to the grave.
Eight hearts leapt to meet it, as the eight brothers sprang up from the moss and raced along a single path:
“Home—home—to Mother!“
