They were in a little arbour, in one corner of what one would have called a garden, except that gardens are usually enclosed. They don’t stretch as far as the eyes can see, which was the case here. A soft clear yet not dazzling or glaring light was over everything, yet there was no sun visible in the sky. And as Ruby gazed and gazed she began to feel that there were differences between this garden and any others she had ever seen. One of these Mavis pointed out to her.
“Do you see, Ruby,” she said, “that all the flowers in this garden are our wild flowers, though they are such beauties?” She stooped to gather one or two blossoms growing close beside her as she spoke.
“See, here are the same kind of forget-me-nots that were at the old cottage, and that we found so strangely on the castle terrace. And here are violets and primroses and snowdrops, all the spring flowers; and the summer ones too, honeysuckle and dog-roses; and even the tiny common ones, buttercups and daisies, and celandine and pimpernel, and eye-bright and shepherd’s-purse, and—and—”
“But you’re mixing them all up together,” said Ruby. “They don’t all come at the same time of year.”
“Yes, they do here,” said Mavis. “That’s the wonder. I found it out for myself almost immediately, and the princess was so pleased I did. I think this garden is a sort of nursery for wild flowers; you see up where we live there are no gardens or gardeners for them.”
“Up!” said Ruby, “are we down below the world? Are we out of the world?”
Mavis smiled.
“I don’t know,” she said. “It may be up or it may be down. It doesn’t matter. The princess says we may call it fairyland if we like. And fancy, Ruby, old Adam is the gardener here.”
A shadow passed over Ruby’s face.
“Don’t be frightened, dear. He knew you were coming, and he’s as kind as kind. We’re to have supper at his cottage before we go home.”