HERBORIST. If the young lady had warts on her hands, I would rub them with the milk of the dandelion, and the warts would vanish. [ Takes up a new plant. ]
HADDA PADDA. What do you call this flower?
HERBORIST. Doesn't she know the sun-dew? It is a cure for freckles.
HADDA PADDA [ taking the flower ]. Ah! I know this.—You cruel pretty little flower! With your beauty you lure the insects to you. Then you close on them, and kill them. You cruel pretty little flower! Do you know my sister? [ Puts the sun-dew aside. ]
HERBORIST [ holding a new plant in her hand ]. This is the grass of Parnassus. It makes a good hair-ointment.—Pretty is the young lady's hair.
HADDA PADDA. You have dug up all the flowers by the roots.
HERBORIST [ pointing to the knife ]. I cut them up by the roots. They must not lose their power. They are all alive.—Shall I tell you more?
HADDA PADDA. Not now, thank you.
HERBORIST [ puts the flowers into the bag; points to the sky ]. Look how red the clouds are!—I think we'll have fine weather to-morrow.
HADDA PADDA. Do you think so?