now was smooth and
bright as a mirror, was quite put into commotion. Before, one saw
every tree reflected in it, every bush that was near: the old
farm-house, with the holes in the roof and with the swallow's nest
under the eaves; but principally, however, the great rose-bush, sown,
as it were, with flowers. It covered the wall, and hung forwards over
the water, in which one beheld the whole as in a picture, except that
everything was upside down; but when the water was agitated, all swam
away and the picture was gone. Two duck's feathers, which the
fluttering ducks had lost, were rocking to and fro: suddenly they flew
forwards as if the wind were coming, but it did not come: they were,
therefore, obliged to remain where they were, and the water grew quiet
and smooth again, and again the roses reflected themselves--they were
so beautiful, but that they did not know, for nobody had told them.
The sun shone in between the tender leaves--all breathed the most
beautiful fragrance; and to them it was as with us, when right
joyfully we are filled with the thought of our happiness.

"How beautiful is existence!" said each rose. "There is but one thing
I should wish for,--to kiss the sun, because it is so bright and
warm.* The roses yonder, too, below in the water, the exact image of
ourselves--them also I should like to kiss, and the nice little birds
below in their nest. There are some above, too; they stretch out their
heads and chirrup quite loud: they have no feathers at all, as their
fathers and mothers have. They are good neighbors, those below as well
as those above. How beautiful existence is!"

The young birds above and below--those below of course the reflection
only in the water--were sparrows: their parents were likewise
sparrows; and they had taken possession of the empty swallow's nest of
the preceding year, and now dwelt therein as if it had been their own
property.

"Are those little duck children that are swimming there?" asked the
young sparrows, when they discovered the duck's feathers on the water.

------

* In Danish the sun is of the feminine gender, and not, as with us,
when personified, spoken of as "he." We beg to make this observation,
lest the roses' wish "to kiss the sun," be thought unmaidenly. We are
anxious, also, to remove a stumbling block, which might perchance trip
up exquisitely-refined modern notions, sadly shocked, no doubt, as
they would be, at such an apparent breach of modesty an