“That was the kiss with which you woke me, Eva, given back to you,—this is because I love you.”
He kissed her lips, and as he did so a bright crimson light flashed suddenly around them, dazzling Eva’s blue eyes, so that she involuntarily closed them, and then the sweet breath of violets floated around them, and all was still.
Eva sat up, and rubbed her eyes. Tall, wavy grass grew all around her, violets, dandelions, and buttercups bloomed through it, and her lap was full of the pretty field-flowers. Bees were buzzing and collecting honey,—butterflies floated lazily about on their black-and-golden wings,—the brown beetle, with his long black feelers, swung on the tall grass-stalk,—the crickets chirped,—the snail had put out his horns,—the old mill-pond glistened and shone in the long, slanting rays of the setting sun,—there was her father’s house,—everything was just as it used to be, except the green toad, and that was a very important exception.
And while Eva was rubbing her eyes, and trying to think where she could be, and what all this meant, she heard the tea-bell ring, and as that was very easy to understand, she got up and went to the house. She peeped through the window before she went in, and everything seemed right in there. For her mother was just folding up her work,—the baby was crowing and playing with his rattle in the cradle,—strawberries and cream and sponge-cake were on the table; and when Eva came quietly in, and slipped into her seat by her father, he put his hand on her curls, and asked her if she had had a nice time down by the pond the whole afternoon.
“Yes, papa,” was all Eva could say, and then she paid very strict attention to her saucer of ripe strawberries covered with cream.
Presently her mother said:
“My little girl had a nice long nap this afternoon. I called her once, and she only raised her head for a minute, and then down it went again.”
Papa laughed.
“Strawberries and cream waked her up at last.”