Where were you taught your song, little bird?
Who sent you to kiss us, you breezes of May?
There are secrets, yes secrets you never have heard,
Whispered breezes and bird as they fluttered away.
Spring Song.
Where were they?
Why, sitting on the short thymy grass just behind the Castle, not a stone's throw from the old tree trunk where they had found the little door, which the golden key had opened.
They gazed at each other, then rubbed their eyes and gazed again.
'How did we get out of the panniers?' said Hildegarde. 'I never felt anything, did you, Leonore?'
Leonore's reply was another question.
'Have we been dreaming?' she said. 'No, of course it couldn't be that, people can't dream the same dream together; it is too funny and queer.'
'It's just what it is,' said Hildegarde laughing. 'We've been to gnomeland, and now we've come back again. And after all, Leonore, we haven't been two hours away. Look at the sun, it is not near setting yet, but of course in gnomeland, as they told us, they don't count time as we do.'
She got up as she spoke and gave herself a little shake.
'I want to be sure I have not been dreaming,' she went on. 'Even though I know I haven't. Pinch me, Leonore, just a nice little gentle pinch to make me feel real, and I'll pinch you in return.'