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“'Is he not yet come？'”
“Is it Kay that you mean？” asked little Gerda.
“I am speaking about my story——about my dream，” answered the Convolvulus.
What did the Snowdrops say？
“Between the trees a long board is hanging——it is a swing. Two little girls are sitting in it， and swing themselves backwards and forwards； their frocks are as white as snow， and long GREen silk ribands 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， and the bubbles float in charming changing colors： the last is still hanging to the end of the pipe， and rocks in the breeze. 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 in so melancholy a manner， and do not mention Kay.”
What do the Hyacinths say？
“there were once upon a time three sisters， quite transparent， and very beautiful. The robe of the one was red， that of the second blue， and that of the third white. They danced hand in hand beside the calm lake in the clear moonshine. They were not elfin maidens， but mortal children. A sweet fragrance was smelt， and the maidens vanished in the wood； the fragrance GREw stronger——three coffins， and in them three lovely maidens， glided out of the forest and across the lake： the shining glow-worms flew around like little floating lights. Do the dancing maidens sleep， or are they dead？ The odour of the flowers says they are corpses； the evening bell tolls for the dead！”
“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.
“Dear me， how long I have staid！” said Gerda. “Autumn is come. I must not rest any longer.” And she got up to go further.
Oh， how tender and wearied her little feet were！ All around it looked so cold and raw： the long willow-leaves were quite yellow， and the fog dripped from them like water； one leaf fell after the other： the sloes only stood full of fruit， which set one's teeth on edge. Oh， how dark and comfortless it was in the dreary world！
FOURTH STORY. the Prince and Princess
Gerda was obliged to rest herself again， when， exactly opposite to her， a large Raven came hopping over the white snow. He had long been looking at Gerda and shaking his head； and now he said， “Caw！ Caw！” Good day！ Good day！
He could not say it better； but he felt a sympathy for the little girl， and asked her where she was going all alone. The word “alone” Gerda understood quite well， and felt how much was expressed by it； so she told the Raven her whole history， and asked if he had not seen Kay.
the Raven nodded very gravely， and said， “It may be——it may be！”
“What， do you really think so？” cried the little girl； and she nearly squeezed the Raven to death， so much did she kiss him.
“Gently， gently，” said the Raven. “I think I know； I think that it may be little Kay. But now he has forgotten you for the Princess.”
“Does he live with a Princess？” asked Gerda.
“Yes——listen，” said the Raven； “but it will be difficult for me to speak your language. If you understand the Raven language I can tell you better.”
“No， I have not learnt it，” said Gerda； “but my grandmother understands it，and she can speak gibberish too. I wish I had learnt it.”
“No matter，” said the Raven； “I will tell you as well as I can； however， it will be bad enough.” And then he told all he knew.
“In the kingdom where we now are there lives a Princess， who is extraordinarily clever； for she has read all the newspapers in the whole world， and has forgotten them again——so clever is she. She was lately， it is said， sitting on her throne——which is not very amusing after all——when she began humming an old tune， and it was just， 'Oh， why should I not be married？' 'That song is not without its meaning，' said she， and so then she was determined to marry； but she would have a husband who knew how to give an answer when he was spoken to——not one who looked only as if he were a GREat personage， for that is so tiresome. She then had all the ladies of the court drummed together； and when they heard her intention， all were very pleased，and said， 'We are very glad to hear it； it is the very thing we were thinking of.' You may believe every word I say，” said the Raven； “for I have a tame sweetheart that hops about in the palace quite free， and it was she who told me all this.
“the newspapers appeared forthwith with a border of hearts and the initials of the Princess； and therein you might read that every good-looking young man was at liberty to come to the palace and speak to the Princess； and he who spoke in such wise as showed he felt himself at home there， that one the Princess would choose for her husband.
