and every one, that passes under it, thinks surely something great will come of it; then the sun grows hot, and the buds come joyfully forth; but the wicked kernel is already there, which pushes off and casts away the fair flower’s dress; and now, in pain and waxing, it can do nothing more, but must grow to fruit in harvest. An apple, to be sure, is pretty and refreshing; yet nothing to the blossom of spring. So is it also with us mortals: I am not glad in the least at growing to be a tall girl. Ah! could I but once visit you!”
“Since the King is with us,” said Zerina, “it is quite impossible; but I will come to thee, my darling, often, often; and none shall see me either here or there. I will pass invisible through the air, or fly over to thee like a bird. O! we will be much, much together, while thou art still little. What can I do to please thee?”
“Thou must like me very dearly,” said Elfrida, “as I like thee in my heart. But come, let us make another rose.”
Zerina took the well-known box from her bosom, threw two grains from it on the ground; and instantly a green bush stood before them, with two deep-red roses, bending their heads, as if to kiss each other. The children plucked them smiling, and the bush disappeared. “O that it would not die so soon!” said Elfrida; “this red child, this wonder of the Earth!”
“Give it me here,” said the little Elf; then breathed thrice upon the budding rose, and kissed it thrice. “Now,” said she, giving back the rose, “it will continue fresh and blooming till winter.”
“I will keep it,” said Elfrida, “as an image of thee; I will guard it in my little room, and kiss it night and morning, as if it were thyself.”
“The sun is setting,” said the other; “I must home.” They embraced again, and Zerina vanished.
In the evening, Mary clasped her child to her breast, with a feeling of alarm and veneration. She henceforth allowed the good little girl more liberty than formerly; and often calmed her husband when he came to search for the child; which for some time he was wont to do, as her retiredness did not please him; and he feared that, in the end, it might make her silly, or even pervert her understanding. The mother often glided
