flower, and on the lips of the maiden. There, that is my story,” said the
buttercup.
“My poor old grandmother!” sighed Gerda; “she is longing to see me,
and grieving for me as she did for little Kay; but I shall soon go home now,
and take little Kay with me. It is no use asking the flowers; they know only
their own songs, and can give me no information.”
And then she tucked up her little dress, that she might run faster, but the
narcissus caught her by the leg as she was jumping over it; so she stopped
and looked at the tall yellow flower, and said, “Perhaps you may know
something.”
Then she stooped down quite close to the flower, and listened; and what
did he say?
“I can see myself, I can see myself,” said the narcissus. “Oh, how sweet
is my perfume! Up in a little room with a bow window, stands a little
dancing girl, half undressed; she stands sometimes on one leg, and
sometimes on both, and looks as if she would tread the whole world under
her feet. She is nothing but a delusion. She is pouring water out of a tea-pot
on a piece of stuff which she holds in her hand; it is her bodice. ‘Cleanliness
is a good thing,’ she says. Her white dress hangs on a peg; it has also been
washed in the tea-pot, and dried on the roof. She puts it on, and ties a
saffron-colored handkerchief round her neck, which makes the dress look
whiter. See how she stretches out her legs, as if she were showing off on a
stem. I can see myself, I can see myself.”
“What do I care for all that,” said Gerda, “you need not tell me such
stuff.” And then she ran to the other end of the garden. The door was
fastened, but she pressed against the rusty latch, and it gave way. The door
sprang open, and little Gerda ran out with bare feet into the wide world. She
looked back three times, but no one seemed to be following her. At last she
could run no longer, so she sat down to rest on a great stone, and when she
looked round she saw that the summer was over, and autumn very far
