'We don't know anything about late and early,' he said. 'But young things like them need plenty of food. Why, I don't believe the eldest of them is more than three hundred years old, counting the way you do up in your country.'
It was all the children could do not to call out in astonishment; they did not do so, however, fearing it might sound rude.
'Do you count gardening easy work, then, if you put such young gnomes to do it?' Leonore inquired.
The gnome nodded—a sort of nod that took in things in general——
'This kind of gardening—yes,' he replied. 'It's only dusting the plants, and straightening the stems if they are bent, and raking the beds and paths. Designing's a different thing—that takes experience. But you can stroll through if you like, and see for yourselves,' and with another nod, he toddled off again.
'How old must he be,' exclaimed Leonore in an awe-struck tone, 'if he counts hundreds of years nothing! I wonder what he meant by saying we could not pick flowers if we tried.'
Hildegarde walked on to where a border of strange blossoms, brilliant in colour and most grotesque in shape, stood in perfect motionlessness. She touched two or three of them gently before she spoke. Then——
'Leonore,' cried she, 'they're not flowers. They're made of metal.'
Leonore sprang forward.
'Oh that's what he meant by saying they needed "dusting" and "straightening,"' she exclaimed. 'Oh, Hildegarde, how queer everything is down here—don't you think we had better go home?'