urying her hands in them, tumbling
them about, and every now and then picking one from the rest, and
throwing it away. All the time she never smiled, except with her eyes,
which were as full as they could hold of the laughter of the spirit--a
laughter which in this world is never heard, only sets the eyes alight
with a liquid shining. Rosamond drew nearer, for the wonderful creature
would have drawn a tiger to her side, and tamed him on the way, A few
yards from her, she came upon one of her cast-away flowers and stooped
to pick it up, as well she might where none grew save in her own
longing. But to her amazement she found, instead of a flower thrown
away to wither, one fast rooted and quite at home. She left it, and
went to another; but it also was fast in the soil, and growing
comfortably in the warm grass. What could it mean? One after another
she tried, until at length she was satisfied that it was the same with
every flower the little girl threw from her lap.

She watched then until she saw her throw one, and instantly bounded to
the spot. But the flower had been quicker than she: there it grew, fast
fixed in the earth, and, she thought, looked at her roguishly.
Something evil moved in her, and she plucked it.

"Don't! don't!" cried the child. "My flowers cannot live in your hands."

Rosamond looked at the flower. It was withered already. She threw it
from her, offended. The child rose, with difficulty keeping her lapful
together, picked it up, carried it back, sat down again, spoke to it,
kissed it, sang to it--oh! such a sweet, childish little song!--the
princess never could recall a word of it--and threw it away. Up rose
its little head, and there it was, busy growing again!

Rosamond's bad temper soon gave way: the beauty and sweetness of the
child had overcome it; and, anxious to make friends with her, she drew
near, and said:

"Won't you give me a little flower, please, you beautiful child?"

"There they are; they are all for you," answered the child, pointing
with her outstretched arm and forefinger all round.

"But you told me, a minute ago, not to touch them."

"Yes, indeed, I did."

"They can't be mine, if I'm not to touch them."

"If, to call them yours, you must kill them, then they are not yours,
and never, never can be yours. They are nobody's when they are dead."

"But you don't kill them."

"I don't pull them; I throw them away. I live them."

"How is it that you make them grow?"