HADDA PADDA.  Are there only flowers in it?

HERBORIST. They are healing plants.

HADDA PADDA.  That’s true.  You heal with herbs....  You believe in their power?

HERBORIST. I believe in a fact that cannot be doubted.  And I am quite sure that there is no disease that could not be healed by herbs, if people knew enough about their mysteries.

HADDA PADDA.  There are wounds, I suppose, that only death can heal.

HERBORIST [looking down into the bag, she takes out an herb].  I think the young lady is very depressed, Shall I show her an herb that can heal many ills?

HADDA PADDA.  A lady-slipper?

HERBORIST. It is also called the love flower....  If you would gain a man’s heart you slip it under his pillow.

HADDA PADDA.  Don’t you see the ring on my finger?  Don’t you know my sweetheart?

HERBORIST. Yes, certainly.—­He was a handsome boy. [Plays with the bag, as she hums.]: 

“When love is the strongest, it leads to your fall, A maid’s happy longest, who heeds no man’s call.”

HADDA PADDA [drawing her scarf more closely around her].  Do you hear the flies buzzing?

HERBORIST [looking deep down into the bag].  Yes.

HADDA PADDA.  It is like the sound of a burning wick.

HERBORIST [does not hear].

HADDA PADDA.  Now there is only one left.—­It is buzzing around my bead. [Putting her hand on the arm of the herborist.] Say something to me, good healer.

HERBORIST. Pretty are her hands!  Were they chapped or sore I would heal them with yarrow ointment. [Taking up a yarrow.]

HADDA PADDA.  Can that be done?

HERBORIST. Oh, yes, with finely cut yarrow, boiled in fresh new butter. [Puts the plant aside, picks up a dandelion.]

HADDA PADDA.  What do you use the dandelion for?

HERBORIST. If the young lady had warts on her hands, I would rub them with the milk of the dandelion, and the warts would vanish. [Takes up a new plant.]

HADDA PADDA.  What do you call this flower?

HERBORIST. Doesn’t she know the sun-dew?  It is a cure for freckles.

HADDA PADDA [taking the flower].  Ah!  I know this.—­You cruel pretty little flower!  With your beauty you lure the insects to you.  Then you close on them, and kill them.  You cruel pretty little flower!  Do you know my sister? [Puts the sun-dew aside.]

HERBORIST [holding a new plant in her hand].  This is the grass of Parnassus.  It makes a good hair-ointment.—­Pretty is the young lady’s hair.

HADDA PADDA.  You have dug up all the flowers by the roots.

HERBORIST [pointing to the knife].  I cut them up by the roots.  They must not lose their power.  They are all alive.—­Shall I tell you more?

HADDA PADDA.  Not now, thank you.

HERBORIST [puts the flowers into the bag; points to the sky].  Look how red the clouds are!—­I think we’ll have fine weather to-morrow.