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into their cups, and asked, "Don't you know where little Kay is?"

But every flower stood in the sunshine, and dreamed its own fairy tale or its
own story: and they all told her very many things, but not one knew anything
of Kay.

Well, what did the Tiger-Lily say?

"Hearest thou not the drum? Bum! Bum! Those are the only two tones. Always
bum! Bum! Hark to the plaintive song of the old woman, to the call of the
priests! The Hindoo woman in her long robe stands upon the funeral pile; the
flames rise around her and her dead husband, but the Hindoo woman thinks on
the living one in the surrounding circle; on him whose eyes burn hotter than
the flames--on him, the fire of whose eyes pierces her heart more than the
flames which soon will burn her body to ashes. Can the heart's flame die in
the flame of the funeral pile?"

"I don't understand that at all," said little Gerda.

"That is my story," said the Lily.

What did the Convolvulus say?

"Projecting over a narrow mountain-path there hangs an old feudal castle.
Thick evergreens grow on the dilapidated walls, and around the altar, where a
lovely maiden is standing: she bends over the railing and looks out upon the
rose. No fresher rose hangs on the branches than she; no appleblossom carried
away by the wind is more buoyant! How her silken robe is rustling!

"'Is he not yet come?'"

"Is it Kay that you mean?" asked little Gerda.

"I am speaking about my story--about my dream," answered the Convolvulus.

What did the Snowdrops say?

"Between the trees a long board is hanging--it is a swing. Two little girls
are sitting in it, and swing themselves backwards and forwards; their frocks
are as white as snow, and long green silk ribands flutter from their bonnets.
Their brother, who is older than they are, stands up in the swing; he twines
his arms round the cords to hold himself fast, for in one hand he has a little
cup, and in the other a clay-pipe. He is blowing soap-bubbles. The swing
moves, and the bubbles float in charming changing colors: the last is still
hanging to the end of the pipe, and rocks in the breeze. The swing moves. The
little black dog, as light as a soap-bubble, jumps up on his hind legs to try
to get into the swing. It moves, the dog falls down, barks, and is angry. They
tease him; the bubble bursts! A swing, a bursting bubble--such is my song!"

"What you relate may be very pretty, but you tell it in so melancholy a
manner, and do not mention Kay."

What do the Hyacinths say?

"There were once upon a time three sisters, quite transparent, and very
beautiful. The robe of the one was red, that of the second blue, and that of
the third white. They danced hand in hand beside the calm lake in the clear
moonshine. They were not elfin maidens, but mortal children. A sweet fragrance
was smelt, and the maidens vanished in the wood; the fragrance grew
stronger--three coffins, and in them three lovely maidens, glided out of the

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