Second Child. No. You wouldn’t have played with me there.
First Child. I like you here—don’t I?
Second Child. And I like you. I like you best of anybody I’ve seen in this pretty country.
First Child. Do you like roses? Or don’t you care for anything but shells?
Second Child (adoringly). I like roses, if you like roses.
(They leave the brook, and gather roses, pelting each other with them, and laughing merrily.)
(First Child tosses a rose over the brook.)
(Second Child picks a bluebell, and puts it to her lips.)
First Child. No. They’re not to eat. They’re to listen to. See! I’ll ring mine. Hark! (He rings the bluebell. It gives out a musical tintinnabulation.) Now, you hark again. I never heard a bluebell ring in that other place, did you?
Second Child. I never saw one on our street.... Oh, mine rings, too!... Say! Are these angels? I never saw an angel either, in our street.