placed between the leaves of his Prayer-Book; and when in foreign lands he opened the book, it was always at the place where the keepsake-flower lay; and the more he looked at it, the fresher it became; he felt as it were, the fragrance of the Danish groves; and from among the leaves of the flowers he could distinctly see the little maiden, peeping forth with her bright blue eyes—­and then she whispered, “It is delightful here in Spring, Summer, Autumn, and Winter”; and a hundred visions glided before his mind.

Thus passed many years, and he was now an old man, and sat with his old wife under the blooming tree.  They held each other by the hand, as the old grand-father and grand-mother yonder in the New Booths did, and they talked exactly like them of old times, and of the fiftieth anniversary of their wedding.  The little maiden, with the blue eyes, and with Elder-blossoms in her hair, sat in the tree, nodded to both of them, and said, “To-day is the fiftieth anniversary!” And then she took two flowers out of her hair, and kissed them.  First, they shone like silver, then like gold; and when they laid them on the heads of the old people, each flower became a golden crown.  So there they both sat, like a king and a queen, under the fragrant tree, that looked exactly like an elder:  the old man told his wife the story of “Old Nanny,” as it had been told him when a boy.  And it seemed to both of them it contained much that resembled their own history; and those parts that were like it pleased them best.

“Thus it is,” said the little maiden in the tree, “some call me ‘Old Nanny,’ others a ‘Dryad,’ but, in reality, my name is ‘Remembrance’; ’tis I who sit in the tree that grows and grows!  I can remember; I can tell things!  Let me see if you have my flower still?”

And the old man opened his Prayer-Book.  There lay the Elder-blossom, as fresh as if it had been placed there but a short time before; and Remembrance nodded, and the old people, decked with crowns of gold, sat in the flush of the evening sun.  They closed their eyes, and—­and—!  Yes, that’s the end of the story!

The little boy lay in his bed; he did not know if he had dreamed or not, or if he had been listening while someone told him the story.  The tea-pot was standing on the table, but no Elder Tree was growing out of it!  And the old man, who had been talking, was just on the point of going out at the door, and he did go.

“How splendid that was!” said the little boy.  “Mother, I have been to warm countries.”

“So I should think,” said his mother.  “When one has drunk two good cupfuls of Elder-flower tea, ’tis likely enough one goes into warm climates”; and she tucked him up nicely, least he should take cold.  “You have had a good sleep while I have been sitting here, and arguing with him whether it was a story or a fairy tale.”

“And where is old Nanny?” asked the little boy.

“In the tea-pot,” said his mother; “and there she may remain.”