“Oh,” breathed Eepersip, “the little sister. I want her, I want her!” Entranced, Eepersip watched, sitting in a crotch just outside the window—watched her as she lay there, tracing with her finger the curving patterns on her wall-paper; as she played her hands in the moonlight and the waving shadows on her wall. And after a while the humming died away, the finger ceased to stroke the wall, her eyes closed, and in a moment she was gently sleeping. Before Eepersip went down she left a fair sprig of apple-blossoms on Fleuriss’s bed—apple-blossoms that, with difficulty, she had brought up the tree. When she went back to her lilac-bush she imagined Fleuriss’s surprise, when she should wake, to see them on her bed; imagined Fleuriss following her, all fascinated by butterflies and sweet flowers; imagined her little sister climbing mountains with her, eating berries and roots, swimming and diving and dancing; and—Her thoughts began to grow more and more fantastic —the smell of lilacs intoxicated her—and she went to sleep.
In the morning she climbed the tree again. Fleuriss was just waking. Her eyes were turned toward the lovely oak-tree, watching the sunlight playing on the emerald leaves. She caught a glimpse of Eepersip as she vanished around the trunk.
“Oh, Mother,” she called softly. “I saw a nymph! She smiled at me, and went away.”
“Hush, child,” said Mrs. Eigleen, coming upstairs and stroking gently the silky black hair. “You were only dreaming.”
“No, Mother,” returned the child, “I was awake. I saw a nymph, really.”
Mrs. Eigleen only smiled.
And then Fleuriss saw the flowers. “O Mother,” she cried, “ did you bring those to me?” Mrs. Eigleen was wonderstruck.
“Why, no!” she answered.
“Maybe that nymph left them here.”