But the answer was so softly spoken that nobody but Winnie could hear.
Did I say nobody? I was wrong. Certain fine ears which were listening heard all, question and answer both. These ears belonged to a little hepatica, who had stolen up very near the surface of the ground to hearken, and, with a tiny leaf-hand curled behind her lilac ear, had caught every syllable. Whatever the secret was, it pleased her, for she clapped both hands and called out,—
"Listen! listen! Hepsy, Patty, Violet,—all of you,—listen!"
"What is it—what?" cried the other flowers, crowding near her.
"Didn't you hear what those two little girls were saying,—Winnie and—what is her name—Charlie?"
"No, we heard nothing. We were listening to the tiresome ones who quarrelled. How horrid children are!"
"Go a flower-hunting indeed," tittered a bloodroot. "They are welcome to hunt, but they will find no flowers."
"Indeed they won't. I'd bite if they tried to pick me," said a dog-tooth violet.
"Ach! fancy their fingers at your stem," shuddered a pale wind-flower.
"How little they guessed that we were listening to it all," laughed a white anemone.