"Daddy, where have you been all this long time? You have brought me no flowers for ever so long."
"Flowers, little Wonder—they are nearly all gone away, gone to sleep till next year—But see, I will gather you something prettier than flowers."
And, hardly marking Beatrice, he led Wonder up and down among the winding underwood. Fungi of exquisite yellows and browns were popping up all about the wood. He gathered some of the most delicate, and put them into the fresh small hands.
"But, Daddy, I mustn't eat them, must I?"
"No, dear—they are too beautiful to eat. You must just look at them and love them, like flowers."
"But they are not flowers, Daddy. They don't smell like flowers. I would rather have flowers, Daddy."
"But there are no flowers till next year. You must learn to love these too, little Wonder; they are more beautiful than flowers."
"Oh, no, Daddy, they are not—"
"Antony," said Beatrice, "how strange you are! Would you poison her? See, dear," (turning to Wonder) "Daddy is only teasing. Let us throw them away. They are nasty, nasty things. Promise me never to gather them, won't you, Wonder?"
"Yes, mother. I don't like them. They frighten me."