HADDA PADDA [_taking the flower_]. Ah! I know this.--You cruel
pretty little flower! With your beauty you lure the insects to
you. Then you close on them, and kill them. You cruel pretty
little flower! Do you know my sister? [_Puts the sun-dew aside._]

HERBORIST [_holding a new plant in her hand_]. This is the grass
of Parnassus. It makes a good hair-ointment.--Pretty is the young
lady's hair.

HADDA PADDA. You have dug up all the flowers by the roots.

HERBORIST [_pointing to the knife_]. I cut them up by the roots.
They must not lose their power. They are all alive.--Shall I tell
you more?

HADDA PADDA. Not now, thank you.

HERBORIST [_puts the flowers into the bag; points to the sky_].
Look how red the clouds are!--I think we'll have fine weather to-
morrow.

HADDA PADDA. Do you think so?

HERBORIST. Evening-glow means warm, morning-glow means storm.

HADDA PADDA [_is silent_].

HERBORIST. Why do you look at me so long?

HADDA PADDA. You have such a peaceful smile on your face. Are you