"My poor flowers are quite dead," said little Ida. "They were so beautiful last evening, and now all their leaves hang withered. How can that be?" asked she from the student who sat on the sofa. She was very fond of him, for he knew the most beautiful tales, and could cut out such wonderful pictures; he could cut out hearts with little dancing ladies in them; flowers he could cut out, and castles with doors that would open. He was a very charming student.
"Why do the flowers look so miserably to-day?" again asked she, and showed him a whole bouquet of withered flowers.
"Dost thou not know what ails them?" said the student; "the flowers have been to a ball last night, and therefore they droop so."
"But flowers cannot dance," said little Ida.
"Yes, when it is dark, and we are all asleep, then they dance about merrily; nearly every night they have a ball!" said the student.
"Can no child go to the ball?" inquired Ida.
"Yes," said the student, "little tiny daisies and lilies of the valley."
"Where do the prettiest flowers dance?" asked little Ida.
"Hast thou not," said the student, "gone out of the city gate to the great castle where the king lives in summer, where there is a beautiful garden, with a great many flowers in it? Thou hast certainly seen the swans which come sailing to thee for little bits of bread. There is a regular ball, thou mayst believe!"
"I was in the garden yesterday with my mother," said Ida, "but all the leaves were off the trees, and there were hardly any flowers at all! Where are they? In summer I saw such a many."