Owing to the slowness of the Lilac, many of the fair ones were not so elegantly dressed as they had hoped to be and were quite mortified; but the shower in the night had freshened them and taken away much of their faded appearance, so that none but the most fastidious of their visitors could detect any failing. The Garden walks were quite lively with such of the callers as were obliged to walk, while those that kept their wings, and so could fly, were moving in the air in every direction. The Bee, in his shining yellow coat, was rushing about making a great to do and acting as if no one were of so much importance. He made his first call upon the Rose, who was dressed in a charming robe of a blush-colour, and who received a great deal of attention.
"The compliments of the Lilac to you, my dear Miss," said he, bustling in. "I am a business character; have fifty calls to make and so have commenced early, as you see. What a disgraceful thing it was for the Lilac to be so unpunctual. Really I lost all patience with it. Prompt is my word. 'Improve each shining hour,' you know, my dear Miss, as the poet somewhere says, so I bid you good-morning," and the corpulent fellow in his yellow coat buzzed graciously to the Rose and hurried off to pay his respects to the next on his list.
As he went out, in came the Butterfly and the Moth, who made their calls together. The Moth was clad in grey, and the Butterfly liked that, because it set off his own brilliant colours so well.
"Bon jour, mademoiselle!" said the Butterfly, who always spoke in a foreign tongue when there was no need for it, and then he continued in his own, for he was not very perfect in the foreign tongue after all. "How charming you look this morning! What shall we do to the Lilac for denying us so long the sight of your beauty? I say, Moth, we shall have to attend to that fellow." The Moth, who remained in a corner merely bowed and smiled; he was not so brilliant as his companion, and besides was always in a state of anxiety about his coat, which was liable to be rubbed.
"Oh, Mr. Butterfly," said the Rose, "the Lilac is not to blame, and the day is all the more charming for being a little later."
"It is not the day that is so charming," said the Butterfly with a smirk. "But we have a few calls yet to make—seventy-five or a hundred, say. Come, Moth. Au revoir, Mademoiselle," and they fluttered off. "Did you see her blush, Moth, when I said that about the day not being so charming?" said the Butterfly. "That's what they like. Halloa! there goes that simpleton of a Humming-Bird. He thinks he's got the gayest coat in the Garden. What a conceited fellow!"
He said this loud enough for the Humming-Bird to hear, but that graceful creature took no notice of it. He also was out, but he made only one call, and that was to the Honeysuckle, for they were betrothed. Of course it never would do to say what they whispered to each other.
The Spring Crocus also kept open house, though she was so old that the others said it was all affectation. But she dressed herself in a yellow dress, which, however, did not make her look any younger. She had one caller. It was the Grasshopper, who was clad in his major's uniform. He came along the Garden walk that led to the Crocus in a very formal fashion, taking step with great precision, for he went exactly the same distance at each spring, and halted the same length of time between the jumps. The last spring—for he had calculated it exactly—landed him by the Crocus. The Crocus, who had watched him coming, was highly flattered though rather flustered. It was the first call she had received that day, and she had even feared she might not receive any.
"Your most obedient, madam," said the Grasshopper, lifting his elbow.
"Yes, a very warm day," said the Crocus, not quite at her ease.