My poor flowers are quite
dead,” said little Ida, “they were so pretty yesterday evening, and
now all the leaves are hanging down quite withered. What do they do
that for,” she asked, of the student who sat on the sofa; she liked
him very much, he could tell the most amusing stories, and cut out
the prettiest pictures; hearts, and ladies dancing, castles with
doors that opened, as well as flowers; he was a delightful student.
“Why do the flowers look so faded to-day?” she asked again, and
pointed to her nosegay, which was quite withered.
“Don’t you know what is the matter with them?” said the student.
“The flowers were at a ball last night, and therefore, it is no
wonder they hang their heads.”
“But flowers cannot dance?” cried little Ida.
“Yes indeed, they can,” replied the student. “When it grows dark,
and everybody is asleep, they jump about quite merrily. They have a
ball almost every night.”
“Can children go to these balls?”
“Yes,” said the student, “little daisies and lilies of the
“Where do the beautiful flowers dance?” asked little Ida.
“Have you not often seen the large castle outside the gates of
the town, where the king lives in summer, and where the beautiful
garden is full of flowers? And have you not fed the swans with bread
when they swam towards you? Well, the flowers have capital balls
there, believe me.”
“I was in the garden out there yesterday with my mother,” said
Ida, “but all the leaves were off the trees, and there was not a
single flower left. Where are they? I used to see so many in the