“Oh—I see. Can’t I go now?”
“No—because—it would be too hard now. Wait till I go and find the easiest way for you.”
“All right—good-bye!”
And, with a rustle of ferns, Eepersip vanished around a great rhododendron-bush.
Fleuriss continued her explorations alone. She saw a gorgeous butterfly come sailing toward her, of yellow streaked with black. Others followed, and they covered her with soft wing-caresses, crowning her head with their wings. Fleuriss thought (as Eepersip had told her) that they were the fairies turning themselves into butterflies so that she could see them.
Not a mouse stirred when she wormed her way through the bushes, taking care not to step on leaves or dry twigs so as to make a noise. And then the sun started to set and turned the whole sky golden and rose. Fleuriss crept in among a vine with golden flowers (there was no rich purple fruit yet, only the lovely flowers) and watched. And, lo! each leaf was quivering, and on their smooth surfaces was represented another miniature sunset. How marvellous the rose and gold looked through the mass of trembling green leaves
Then Fleuriss squeezed her way out of the bush and began to explore again. Pushing northward in the dim, rosy light, she came to a smooth lawn of pale green moss. On the other side was a stretch of woods, then another lawn, of grass this time and smaller; and then there was a great row of massive pines and beyond them an opaline lake. And still the sun went down, and the mass of colour became smaller and brighter, and Fleuriss, who had never seen so much beauty in her little life, gazed and gazed. The colour faded slowly, slowly, as she watched, until only a deep flush was left, and it was then that Fleuriss thought she was in the heart of a giant rose. And—inconceivable—she looked, and she was. She was sure of it. She could even see the great curling petals around her. Right at the sun was a burning spot. That was the pollen of the great flower. And this tiny fire burned and burned until only one bright red spark was left. Then it too went out, and after it all the rose colour faded away.
Then Fleuriss turned to the lake, which also had held in its bright blue surface an image of the sunset. The sky was deep blue now. The pines looked even darker against it, and in the lake Fleuriss could see the reflection of the crescent moon setting. And then she ran down by the side of the lake, and very dark and strange it looked in the evening. Dipping her little hands into the clear, crystal water, she drank, for she was thirsty. But she was too tired to appreciate any more beauty just then, and so she crept back to her little nest of flowers to go to sleep. Then she heard a gurgle of sweet silvery music, and she listened spellbound, entranced. But it was no wicked witch, seeking to entice her by spells: it was the solitary wood-thrush, that superb singer of the dusk. And then Fleuriss dropped off to sleep.
The next morning dawned fair, and she rose bewitched with what she had been through. The sunset and the silvery notes of the thrush all came back to her. She went down by the lake. It was very different now. Its blue was sparkling with the rays of the sun, whereas before it had looked very solitary—an icy cold blue. There was no beach—just a grassy bank—and in the shallow water she saw some little silvery fishes swimming and playing in shoals. And she watched them in their happy play for a long time, fascinated by the way they raced after each other around the shining stones and pebbles. Because they were so bright and gleaming, poor little Fleuriss thought that they were some rare and unheard-of fish, little dreaming that they were just common minnows.