Just then our mother entered.
“There,” she cried, “I knew there would be little work done when I was away. Where is the fruit, Sunbeam? You have brought nothing but flowers.”
“It’s gooseberries,” she said, looking up from a bowl of dark roses. “Father says he’s going to eat his out in the garden after.”
“And are we all to do so?”
“Yes, unless you want something else. I’ll go and gather it if you want something else.”
“Oh, no. I think you had better run over and see Moonbeam now; and listen, Sunbeam, give them my love and say I should be very pleased if Moonbeam might be allowed to come and spend a little time in the city with us.”
“Genius is going with me, and we’ll wait and bring her back with us if she can come.”
So together we went, and as we crossed the gardens and the park many gentle animals bounded over our path. Tall deer that had been hunted in the chase, squirrels and timid rabbits, birds of all kinds and countries, horses and cattle grazing on rich slopes, and young lambs frisking over golden lawns, forgetful of the sacrifice of their young lives for man.
How joyous and how free from fear their lives were here! The squirrels bounded along the track in front of us; the deer stared at us lazily as we passed; the birds flew from branch to branch, following our steps with music.
“You are never quite alone then, even when you walk,” I began at last.