"You will never finish your bouquet, Siddy," said the young man, incredulously, to the lady, as she awkwardly tried to knot the broken thread.
"If the thread were only stronger!" cried the busy maiden; "do knot it for me!" But it turned out that the young gentleman was not more expert himself.
"Look, Benno, how beautiful the bouquet will be,--that was my idea."
"It is all much too loose," retorted the young man.
"It is good enough for the first time," replied Siddy; "there, see my hands, how sweet they smell." She showed the blue points of her little fingers, holding them up to his face; and as he good-humoredly sniffed at them, she playfully rapped him on the nose. "I have enough of the red flowers," she continued, again occupied with the nosegay; "now I must have one more circle of white."
"What kind of white?"
"If I did but know their names," replied Siddy, thoughtfully; "I mean Marguerites. What do you call these white flowers?" she asked, looking back to a countrywoman who stood in a respectful attitude some steps behind the busy pair, looking on at their proceedings with a pleased smile.
"We call them daisies," said the woman.
"Ah, that's it?" cried Siddy; "cut long stalks, Benno."
"They haven't got long stalks," said Benno, plaintively, carrying her what he could pick near at hand. "I will tell you what astonishes me," he began, sitting down by his sister on the grass. "This meadow is full of flowers; when it is mowed the grass becomes hay, and one doesn't see a thing of all the flowers in the hay."