“You make me quite sad,” said little Gerda.  “I cannot help thinking of the dead maidens.  Oh! is little Kay really dead?  The Roses have been in the earth, and they say no.”

“Ding, dong!” sounded the Hyacinth bells.  “We do not toll for little Kay; we do not know him.  That is our way of singing, the only one we have.”

And Gerda went to the Ranunculuses, 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 Ranunculus shone brightly, and looked again at Gerda.  What song could the Ranunculus 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 neighbor’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; her grand-daughter, 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 my little story,” said the Ranunculus.

“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 only know their own old rhymes, and can tell me nothing.”  And she tucked up her frock, to enable her to run quicker; but the Narcissus gave her a knock on the leg, just as she was going to jump over it.  So she stood still, looked at the long yellow flower, and asked, “You perhaps know something?” and she bent down to the Narcissus.  And what did it say?

“I can see myself—­I can see myself!  Oh, how odorous I am!  Up in the little garret there stands, half-dressed, a little Dancer.  She stands now on one leg, now on both; she despises the whole world; yet she lives only in imagination.  She pours water out of the teapot over a piece of stuff which she holds in her hand; it is the bodice; cleanliness is a fine thing.  The white dress is hanging on the hook; it was washed in the teapot, and dried on the roof.  She puts it on, ties a saffron-colored kerchief round her neck, and then the gown looks whiter.  I can see myself—­I can see myself!”

“That’s nothing to me,” said little Gerda.  “That does not concern me.”  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.