"Yes."
"And this is speedwell, the prize of honor, a dainty little blossom. That is surely good enough for you. I do not even need to ask. And this big reddish brown one is the devil's paintbrush, and must have grown on purpose for you. Oh yes, laugh at it. And these," and she stooped to pick a couple of yellow blossoms, that were growing in the sand at her feet, "these are immortelles."
"Immortelles," said Botho. "They are old Frau Nimptsch's passion. Of course we must take those, we need them. And now we must tie up our little bouquet."
"Very well. But what shall we tie it with? We will wait till we find a strong grass blade."
"No, I will not wait so long. And a grass blade is not good enough for me, it is too thick and coarse. I want something fine. I know what, Lena, you have such beautiful long hair; pull out one and tie the bouquet with that."
"No," said she decidedly.
"No? And why not? Why not?"
"Because the proverb says 'hair binds.' And if I bind the flowers with it you too will be bound."
"But that is superstition. Frau Dörr says so."
"No, the good old soul told me herself. And whatever she has told me from my youth up, even if it seemed like superstition, I have always found it correct."