Judge if the children danced for joy. A lamb! a real lamb! all for their own! Never was any thing like it. They patted the pretty creature, and lavished caresses upon him, till finally the chicks woke up at the stir, peeped, called, and at last flew out of their baskets to see what was going on; and one of them fluttered up on to the lamb’s back, where he sat like a yellow buttercup on a bank of snow. May gazed upon the scene with a calm smile.
“Now,” she said at last, “if you’re quite done, I’ll venture to remind you that my time’s important. Business first, and pleasure after. Suppose you put off kissing that creature again until I am gone.”
Thus admonished, the children reluctantly left the lamb, tied by his grassy chain to the dresser, and came back to the fire. So far they had been almost too busy to look at May; but now they did. At first Thekla thought her the sweetest thing she had ever seen. Her hair curled like the tendrils of a wild grape; no shell was ever lined with lovelier pink than the bloom of her cheek. But, as she gazed, Thekla became aware of an expression which contradicted the tender lines of the face,—a certain teasing look, a frostiness about the blue eyes, which baffled and surprised her. The same quality appeared in her words, and even in the soft voice which uttered them. Fair and winsome as she was, Thekla did not venture close, as she had done to April, but clung tightly to Max’s hand while she listened.
“I reminded you,” proceeded May, “because I have really too much to do to allow of my wasting time. Very few Months have the work put upon them that I have. June pretends to be busy; but, after all, most of it is finishing off what I began. And as for April, she is a sad, idle girl, and does almost nothing. Why, I came upon her just now,” said May, in an aggrieved voice; “and there she was having a game of play with that good-for-nothing Jack Frost, tickling him with her warm fingers and screaming with laughter; and of course I shall be expected to make up for all she leaves incomplete. There’s the great wash of the year, for instance. It fairly belongs to her; but she never will do it. And I’ve all the plants to wake too, which is a hard job, for they are the sleepiest little things imaginable; and the gardens to tidy, and all. So you won’t wonder that I can’t spare many minutes for telling stories.
“Did you ever have a garden?” she went on.
“Oh, yes!” replied Thekla. “Max makes me one every summer.”
“It’s very pleasant,” said May; “but when your flower-beds are as big as all outdoors, as mine are, there’s a great deal of care and responsibility in them, I assure you. I like it, however. I enjoy sowing millions of seeds, and setting little roots to straggle, and pruning and clipping. Every flower that ever grew is in my list, and I manage to see it in bloom somewhere or other. If I were subject to rose-cold, I should go crazy; for smelling is my delight. Ah! you should see my rose-beds in Damascus. But the nicest garden I ever made was a very tiny one which was planted to please some little children. Shall I tell you about it?”
“Oh, yes, do!” cried Max.
“It was in a cold country, a long way from here, which I never visit till pretty late in the season. You have to cross the sea to get to it. Once only red people lived there. They dwelt in wigwams, and didn’t care much for me, except that I melted the snow which kept them from their hunting-grounds. But one year, on arriving I found something new. A ship lay on the shore, and people with white faces were pitching tents and building huts as if they meant to stay. Among them were some children.
“Of these, two particularly took my fancy, two little sisters, fair as lilies. One was almost a baby. When they sat at the door of the tent, I used to steal up unseen, and pat their cheeks with my hand. They did not know it was I; but they liked it.