"In ecstasy he lifted up his shields, and made his filmy wings quiver. Higher he would go! Higher! Again he fluttered his wings—his feet let loose the grass-stem, and—oh, joy!—He was flying, free and clear, in the still, warm evening air!"
"And then?" asked Johannes.
"The continuation is not cheerful. I will tell it you a little later."
They had flown away over the pond. A pair of belated white butterflies fluttered along with them.
"Where are you going, elves?" they asked.
"To the big wild-rose that blossoms on yonder hill."
"We will go, too! We will go, too!"
In the distance, the rose-bush with its many pale-yellow satiny flowers was already visible. The buds were red, and the open roses showed little stripes of the same color, in token of the time when they still were buds.
In solitary calm, this sweet wild-rose bloomed, and filled the region with its marvelous fragrance. So delicious is this that the dune-elves live upon it alone.
The butterflies fluttered up to it, and kissed flower after flower.