“Many thanks!” said little Gerda; and she went to the other flowers, looked into their cups, and asked, “Don’t you know where little Kay is?” But every flower stood in the sunshine, and dreamed its own fairy-tale or its own story; and they all told her very many things; but not one knew anything of Kay.
Then Gerda questioned the little snowdrop.
“Between the trees a long board is hanging—it is a swing. Two little girls are sitting in it, and are swinging themselves backward and forward: their frocks are as white as snow, and long green silk ribbons flutter from their bonnets. Their brother, who is older than they are, stands up in the swing; he twines his arms round the cords to hold himself fast, for in one hand he has a little cup, and in the other a clay pipe. He is blowing soap-bubbles. The swing moves. The little black dog, as light as a soap-bubble, jumps up on his hind legs to try to get into the swing. It moves, the dog falls down, barks, and is angry. They tease him; the bubble bursts! A swing—a bursting bubble—such is my song!”
“What you relate may be very pretty, but you tell it so sorrowfully, and you don’t even mention little Kay.”
Then Gerda went to the buttercups, that looked forth from among the shining green leaves.
“You are a little bright sun!” said Gerda. “Tell me if you know where I can find my playfellow.”
And the buttercups shone brightly, and looked again at Gerda. What song could they sing? It was one that said nothing about Kay either.
“In a small court the bright sun was shining in the first days of spring. The beams glided down the white walls of a neighbour’s house, and close by the fresh yellow flowers were growing, shining like gold in the warm sun-rays. An old grandmother was sitting in the air, with her granddaughter, the poor and lovely servant just come for a short visit. She knows her grandmother. There was gold, pure, virgin gold in that blessed kiss. There, that is our little story,” said the buttercups.
“My poor old grandmother!” sighed Gerda. “Yes, she is longing for me, no doubt; she is sorrowing for me, as she did for little Kay. But I will soon come home, and then I will bring Kay with me. It is of no use asking the flowers; they know only their own old rhymes, and can tell me nothing.” And then off she ran to the further end of the garden.
The gate was locked, but she shook the rusted bolt till it was loosened, and the gate opened; and little Gerda ran off barefooted into the wide world. She looked round her thrice, but no one followed her. At last she could run no longer; she sat down on a large stone, and when she looked about her, she saw that the summer had passed; it was late in the autumn, but that one could not remark in the beautiful garden, where there was always sunshine, and where there were flowers the whole year round.