“I don’t understand that at all,” said little Gerda.
“That is my story,” said the tiger-lily.
What says the convolvulus? “Near yonder narrow road stands an old knight’s castle; thick ivy creeps over the old ruined walls, leaf over leaf, even to the balcony, in which stands a beautiful maiden. She bends over the balustrades, and looks up the road. No rose on its stem is fresher than she; no apple-blossom, wafted by the wind, floats more lightly than she moves. Her rich silk rustles as she bends over and exclaims, ‘Will he not come?’”
“Is it Kay you mean?” asked Gerda.
“I am only speaking of a story of my dream,” replied the flower.
What said the little snowdrop? “Between two trees a rope is hanging; there is a piece of board upon it; it is'a swing. Two pretty little girls, in dresses white as snow, and with long green ribbons fluttering from their hats, are sitting upon it, swinging. Their brother, who is taller than they are, stands in the swing; he has one arm round the rope, to steady himself; in one hand he holds a little bowl, and in the other a clay pipe; he is blowing bubbles. As the swing goes on, the bubbles fly upward, reflecting the most beautiful varying colours. The last still hangs from the bowl of the pipe, and sways in the wind. On goes the swing; and then a little black dog comes running up. He is almost as light as the bubble, and he raises himself on his hind legs, and wants to be taken into the swing; but it does not stop, and the dog falls; then he barks, and gets angry. The children stoop towards him, and the bubble bursts. A swinging plank, a light sparkling foam picture,—that is my story.”
“It may be all very pretty what you are telling me,” said little Gerda; “but you speak so mournfully, and you do not mention little Kay at all.”
What do the hyacinths say? ‘‘There were three beautiful sisters, fair and delicate. The dress of one was red, of the second blue, and of the third pure white. Hand in hand, they danced in the bright moonlight, by the calm lake; but they were human beings, not fairy elves. The sweet fragrance attracted them, and they disappeared in the wood; here the fragrance became stronger. Three coffins, in which lay three beautiful maidens, glided from the thickest part of the forest across the lake. The fire-flies flew lightly over them, like little floating torches. Do the dancing maidens sleep, or are they dead? The scent of the flowers says that they are corpses. The evening bell tolls their knell.”
“You make me quite sorrowful,” said little Gerda; “your perfume is so strong, you make me think of the dead maidens, Ah! is little Kay really dead then? The roses have been in the earth, and they say no.”
“Cling, clang,” tolled the hyacinth bells. “We are not tolling for little Kay; we do not know him. We sing our song, the only one we know.”
Then Gerda went to the buttercups that were glittering amongst the bright green leaves.
“You are little bright suns,” said Gerda; “tell me if you know where I can find my playfellow.”
