little chickweed bower.

"Please, just a little longer," she said, "I'll be done in a minute."

As Reinhard did not answer, contrary to his wont, she turned round and
faced him. In his eyes there was a sudden expression of trouble which
she had never observed before in them.

"What is the matter with you, Reinhard?" she said, drawing nearer to
him.

"With me?" he said, his thoughts far away and his eyes resting
dreamily on hers.

"You look so sad."

"Elisabeth," he said, "I cannot bear that yellow bird."

She looked at him in astonishment, without understanding his meaning.
"You are so strange," she said.

He took both her hands in his, and she let him keep them there. Her
mother came back into the room shortly after; and after they had drunk
their coffee she sat down at her spinning-wheel, while Reinhard and
Elisabeth went off into the next room to arrange their plants.

Stamens were counted, leaves and blossoms carefully opened out, and
two specimens of each sort were laid to dry between the pages of a
large folio volume.