“Pray,” inquired a dandy Tulip, languidly uncurling his leaves to the sun, “who is the lady destined to be the future Queen of Meadowland?”
“The fair Daisy,” replied the Bee, “and report says she is as good as she is lovely.”
A cluster of brilliantly-attired Crocuses here set up a shrill little laugh of contempt and derision.
“What, Daisy!” they exclaimed,—“that little fright! A dwarf! A model of ugliness! Well, the King’s taste is not very refined!”
The Lilies, Hyacinths, and Tulips, together with some newly-awakened Jonquils, all joined in mockery of King Buttercup’s chosen bride, and the poor Town Crier was losing patience with them, when he heard a sweet voice near him say—
“Good-morning, Sir Bee! Your news delights me. I am always happy when I hear of the good fortune of others. Daisy has long been a dear friend of mine, and I heartily wish her joy. Come and tell me all about it.”
Thus invited, the Bee gladly flew down to a bank of dewy moss, where dwelt the flower who spoke to him, the fair and gentle Violet. The other flowers were silent; they knew that though the Violet was really a native of Meadowland, yet there was no one more honoured at the brilliant court of their Queen, the Rose, than she was, and they dared not speak against Daisy, whom she thus publicly acknowledged as a dear friend. Meanwhile, the Violet, after hospitably giving the Bee some fresh honey for breakfast, listened with great interest to his account of the approaching festivities.
“Two thousand blue butterflies are commissioned by his Majesty,” said he, “to be the bearers of the royal invitations to the marriage. You will no doubt receive yours in the course of the day. One million spiders are employed in weaving a canopy under which the bridal pair will receive their friends. The Daisy is to be attended by one hundred of the whitest Anemones as bridesmaids, and the King will be escorted by the same number of selected Celandines. The Wedding will take place to-morrow at sunrise, in the centre of the green field that slopes down to the river yonder, and after the ceremony there will be a grand Banquet. In the evening a State Ball will be held in the King’s Palace, to which many of the highest aristocracy will come, though the season for them is not yet begun. But many have consented to travel thither to do honour to the King—one Lily in particular is on her way from the Nile, travelling night and day in order to be present.”
Here the Bee paused a moment, and rubbed his forelegs in great excitement. Not only Violet, but all the flowers near him were bending eagerly forward to listen to his account of the morrow’s programme, and he went on—
“I am to be there with all the Worshipful Company of Town Criers,—we are to stand on each side of the path down which the King and his newly-made Queen will pass—and at a signal from our Chief, we shall all buzz together, which will have a grand effect. The Thrush has been asked to sing an anthem, but his voice has been so much admired, that he has become fanciful and conceited, and always has a cold when he is wanted to sing. He says he has heard that if singers can manage to have a cold whenever it suits their caprice, they become more popular. But I must not stay any longer gossiping, or I shall never get through my business. I shall see you among the guests to-morrow. Good-bye!” and away flew the Bee buzzing as loudly as he could, for he felt very fussy, as most people do who have important news to tell. The Violet, left to herself, thought very much of her friend Daisy’s good fortune, and looked forward with eagerness to the forthcoming festivities.