Amal. Yes, I do, quite as much. I know all about Champa of the fairy tale and his seven brothers. If only they let me, I'll go right into the dense forest where you can't find your way. And where the honey-sipping hummingbird rocks himself on the end of the thinnest branch, I will flower out as a champa. Would you be my sister Parul?
Sudha. You are silly! How can I be sister Parul when I am Sudha and my mother is Sasi, the flower-seller? I have to weave so many garlands a day. It would be jolly if I could lounge here like you!
Amal. What would you do then, all the day long?
Sudha. I could have great times with my doll Benay the bride, and Meni the pussycat and—but I say it is getting late and I mustn't stop, or I won't find a single flower.
Amal. Oh, wait a little longer; I do like it so!
Sudha. Ah, well—now don't you be naughty. Be good and sit still and on my way back home with the flowers I'll come and talk with you.
Amal. And you'll let me have a flower then?
Sudha. No, how can I? It has to be paid for.
Amal. I'll pay when I grow up—before I leave to look for work out on the other side of that stream there.
Sudha. Very well, then.