“My little bud is not yet strong enough to venture forth,” replied the rose, as she bent fondly over it; “the sunlight and the rain would blight her tender form, were she to blossom now, but soon she will be fit to bear them; till then she is content to rest beside her mother, and to wait.”
“You silly flower,” said Thistledown, “see how quickly I will make you bloom! your waiting is all useless.” And speaking thus, he pulled rudely apart the folded leaves, and laid them open to the sun and air; while the rose mother implored the cruel Fairy to leave her little bud untouched.
“It is my first, my only one,” said she, “and I have watched over it with such care, hoping it would soon bloom beside me; and now you have destroyed it. How could you harm the little helpless one, that never did aught to injure you?” And while her tears fell like summer rain, she drooped in grief above the little bud, and sadly watched it fading in the sunlight; but Thistledown, heedless of the sorrow he had given, spread his wings and flew away.
Soon the sky grew dark, and heavy drops began to fall. Then Thistle hastened to the lily, for her cup was deep, and the white leaves fell like curtains over the fragrant bed; he was a dainty little Elf, and could not sleep among the clovers and bright buttercups. But when he asked the flower to unfold her leaves and take him in, she turned her pale, soft face away, and answered sadly, “I must shield my little drooping sisters whom you have harmed, and cannot let you in.”
Then Thistledown was very angry, and turned to find shelter among the stately roses; but they showed their sharp thorns, and, while their rosy faces glowed with anger, told him to begone, or they would repay him for the wrong he had done their gentle kindred.
He would have stayed to harm them, but the rain fell fast, and he hurried away, saying, “The tulips will take me in, for I have praised their beauty, and they are vain and foolish flowers.”
But when he came, all wet and cold, praying for shelter among their thick leaves, they only laughed and said scornfully, “We know you, and will not let you in, for you are false and cruel, and will only bring us sorrow. You need not come to us for another mantle, when the rain has spoilt your fine one; and do not stay here, or we will do you harm.”
Then they waved their broad leaves stormily, and scattered the heavy drops on his dripping garments.
“Now must I go to the humble daisies and blue violets,” said Thistle, “they will be glad to let in so fine a Fairy, and I shall die in this cold wind and rain.”
So away he flew, as fast as his heavy wings would bear him, to the daisies; but they nodded their heads wisely, and closed their leaves yet closer, saying sharply,—