The first thing that attracted his attention was his friend the Sea-anemone, expanding its flowery disk like a sun-flower in the crystal water, with three companions rooted to the rock beside it. They all seemed to feel the presence of the Child, and spread themselves like flowers in the sunshine as he smiled on them. And clinging to a rock beside them a tiny star expanded itself with long petals like a daisy, silently stirring its delicate rays to and fro.
"Why are you never still?" said the Child.
"Because every movement is pleasure," it replied, "and every breath I draw is a feast. My little fingers are always making little whirlpools and drawing food into my lips."
"Are you always eating and drinking?" said the Child.
"Very often," said the sea-daisy, or anemone, not in the least abashed; "it is so pleasant." And all the anemones echoed her words.
"Sometimes we rest," she added.
"You sleep," said the Child; "then do you dream?"
"I do not exactly know what you mean," said the snaky-locked anemone, "but it is all very pleasant."
The Child was silent and watched them, and as he listened he caught the sound of a low sweet song, which issued from their lips; but not only from theirs—it was vibrating all around him, the whole air and the crystal water seemed full of soft music. And the Child sat still and listened.
As he listened and looked, wonder after wonder opened before him, as if veil after veil were removed from his eyes. He was not often so long still.