"Don't jest with me, little girl," said Tsiu reproachfully; "I am in no humour for a joke. Who ever heard of such a thing as putting dead flowers on their stalks as they were before?"
"Don't you be so conceited and so sure, as though nobody in the world could do anything that you can't," retorted the child again, with her silvery, saucy laugh. "It so happens that my ancestors were in possession of a secret by which even that wonderful thing might be done; and I don't know but what I might be able to accomplish it myself."
Then old Tsiu began to prick up his ears. "No, but really, little girl," he said, "is there such a secret?"
"Why should there not be, really?" replied the saucy girl, mimicking his earnest tones. Then Tsiu made her a low bow, and said—
"If, my child, you are indeed able to perform this miracle, the old man's obligations to you would be such as he could never hope to repay. See, here is a full-blown rose; operate on this one to begin with."
"Don't bow to me like that," replied the little girl; "but go into the house and fetch me a bowl of nice fresh water." Up jumped old Tsiu with wonderful alacrity, turning the thing over and over in his mind as he walked along. He procured the water, and came trotting briskly back again; but—where was the little girl? She had disappeared; but every flower was on its stem again, as fresh, as blooming, as full of life as ever—not one was lying bruised upon the ground—his favourites were all restored!
The old man could hardly believe his eyes. His delight was more extravagant, even, than his grief had
