“You dreadful flowers! You are full of snuff! Achoo!” he cried indignantly.
“Aha! Aha! You know all about it!” cried the flowers. “The trick is not new to you; but is it not funny? Aha! Aha!”
Kenneth did not think it at all funny as he ran on up the pathway, sneezing painfully at every step. At last he paused to wipe his eyes. “Achoo! Achoo!” Poor boy! He was fairly weak with his efforts, and spying a little seat near by under a tree, thought he would sit down to rest a minute and get his breath before going on his way. It was a funny little seat, like a great toadstool, and it looked very comfortable. But no sooner had Kenneth seated himself, than the wretched thing sank down into the ground, leaving him with a bump on the gravel of the avenue.
“Aha! Aha!” cried the flowers, tittering foolishly when they saw Kenneth sprawling. “Oh, how funny you do look! What a good joke! How clever! We shall die laughing!”
“You are very silly flowers,” said Kenneth, pouting. “You laugh at nothing at all. I never knew you to be so disagreeable.” And, trying to look very dignified in spite of his dusty jacket, he jumped up and strode down the avenue. The inviting little round seats seemed to have sprung up everywhere like mushrooms since his last visit, but he was too cautious to sit down again, although he was very tired.
Kenneth walked so fast to escape the mortifying laughter which rang from the flower-bells, that he had almost passed the last Christmas tree before he remembered the magic fruit which they always bore for him.
“Hello!” he cried. “I meant to look for a new jack-knife. I always find just what I want on these trees. Why, yes—there is one now, right over my head. Oh, what a beauty!” He reached up to grasp it as it swung about a foot above his nose. But at the very moment when Kenneth stretched out his hand, the tree gave a sudden jerk and up flew the knife quite out of reach.
“Oh!” cried Kenneth, stamping his foot angrily. “What made it do that?”
“Ha, ha!” snickered the flowers, who had been peeping at him from a distance. “What a joke! Try again, Kenneth.” And Kenneth tried again and again, jumping after the knife more frantically each time. But it was of no use. A malicious breeze, or some other cause, seemed to bend the tree away from him whenever he reached toward it. And at last he gave up in disgust.
“I wanted a fountain pen, too,” he said to himself. “There ought to be one on another tree. Yes, here it is.” And once more Kenneth reached eagerly for the shining black thing that dangled close by his hand.