and marshalled by clumps of splendid tiger-lilies,--the drum-majors of
the flower-garden. Here were roses of every sort, blushing and paling,
glowing in gold and mantling in crimson. And the carnations showed their
delicate fringes, and the geraniums blazed, and the heliotrope
languished, and the "Puritan pansies" lifted their sweet faces and
looked gravely about, as if reproving the other flowers for their
frivolity; while shy Mignonette, thinking herself well hidden behind her
green leaves, still made her presence known by the exquisite perfume
which all her gay sisters would have been glad to borrow.

Over all went the sunbeams, rollicking and playing; and through all went
Hildegarde, her heart filled with a new delight, feeling as if she had
never lived before. She talked to the flowers. She bent and kissed the
damask rose, which was too beautiful to pluck. She put her cheek against
a lily's satin-silver petals, and started when an angry bee flew out and
buzzed against her nose. But where were the currant-bushes? Ah! there
they were,--a row of stout green bushes, forming a hedge at the bottom
of the garden.

Hilda fell busily to work, filling her basket with the fine, ruddy
clusters. "How beautiful they are!" she thought, holding up a bunch so
that the sunlight shone through it. "And these pale, pinky golden ones,
which show all the delicate veins inside. Really, I _must_ eat this fat
bunch; they are like fairy grapes! The butler fay comes and picks a
cluster every evening, and carries it on a lily-leaf platter to the
queen as she sits supping on honey-cakes and dew under the damask
rose-bush."

While fingers and fancy were thus busily employed, Hilda was startled by
the sound of a voice which seemed to come from beyond the