“No, but it is one of mine,” said the little boy.
Tina looked about her, as they walked down the steps of the marble terrace, and saw a lovely scene spread out before her.
All about were vases of flowers, and clumps of shrubbery. At the foot of the steps there was a garden with sparkling fountains, shady walks, statues peeping out here and there, and beyond a dense forest.
The air was mild, and everything looked well-cared for, but not a creature was to be seen; and it was as still as could be.
They went on toward the forest, and as they entered it, Tina saw flowers everywhere.
“Do let us get some,” she said.
“Very well,” said the boy. “I will get you a basket;” and, turning a little out of the path, he went to a tree, and Tina saw that from every limb baskets were hanging, as if they grew there.
He came back with one for Tina, and as she thanked him, she said: “You haven’t told me your name.”
“My name,” said he, “is Sunny Summer.”
“What a queer name!” said Tina, “but I rather like it.”