He was a
great favorite with her, because he used to tell her the prettiest of
stories and cut out the most amusing things in paper--hearts with little
ladies dancing in them, and high castles with doors which one could open
and shut. He was a merry student. "Why do the flowers look so wretched
to-day?" asked she again, showing him a bouquet of faded flowers. "Do you not know?" replied the student. "The flowers went to a ball last
night, and are tired. That's why they hang their heads." "What an idea," exclaimed little Ida. "Flowers cannot dance!" "Of course they can dance! When it is dark, and we are all gone to bed,
they jump about as merrily as possible. They have a ball almost every
night." "And can their children go to the ball?" asked Ida. "Oh, yes," said the student; "daisies and lilies of the valley, that are
quite little." "And when is it that the prettiest flowers dance?" "Have you not been to the large garden outside the town gate, in front
of the castle where the king lives in summer--the garden that is so full
of lovely flowers? You surely remember the swans which come swimming up
when you give them crumbs of bread? Believe me, they have capital balls
there." "I was out there only yesterday with my mother," said Ida, "but there
were no leaves on the trees, and I did not see a single flower. What has
become of them? There were so many in the summer." "They are inside the palace now," replied the student. "As soon as the
king and all his court go back to the town, the flowers hasten out of
the garden and into the palace, where they have famous times. Oh, if you
could but see them! The two most beautiful roses seat themselves on the
throne and act king and queen. All the tall red cockscombs stand before
them on either side and bow; they are the chamberlains. Then all the
pretty flowers come, and there is a great ball. The blue violets
represent the naval cadets; they dance with hyacinths and crocuses, who
take the part of young ladies. The tulips and the tall tiger lilies are
old ladies,--dowagers,--who see to it that the dancing is well done and
that all things go on properly." "But," asked little Ida, "is there no one there to harm the flowers for
daring to dance in the king's castle?" "No one knows anything about it," replied the student. "Once during the
night, perhaps, the old steward of the castle does, to be sure, come in
with his great bunch of keys to see that all is right; but the moment
the flowers hear the clanking of the keys they stand stock-still or
hide themselves behind the long silk window curtains. Then the old
steward will say, 'Do I not smell flowers here?' but he can't see them." "That is very funny," exclaimed little Ida, clapping her hands with
glee; "but should not I be able to see the flowers?" "To be sure you can see them," replied the student. "You have only to
remember to peep in at the windows the next time you go to the palace. I
did so this very day, and saw a long yellow lily lying on the sofa. She
was a court lady." "Do the flowers in the Botanical Garden go to the ball? Can they go all
that long distance?" "Certainly," said the student; "for the flowers can fly if they please. Have you not seen the beautiful red and yellow butterflies that look so
much like flowers? They are in fact nothing else. They have flown off
their stalks high into the air and flapped their little petals just as
if they were wings, and thus they came to fly about. As a reward for
always behaving well they have leave to fly about in the daytime, too,
instead of sitting quietly on their stalks at home, till at last the
flower petals have become real wings. That you have seen yourself. "It may be, though, that the flowers in the Botanical Garden have never
been in the king's castle. They may not have heard what frolics take
place there every night. But I'll tell you; if, the next time you go to
the garden, you whisper to one of the flowers that a great ball is to be
given yonder in the castle, the news will spread from flower to flower
and they will all fly away. Then should the professor come to his garden
there won't be a flower there, and he will not be able to imagine what
has become of them." "But how can one flower tell it to another? for I am sure the flowers
cannot speak." "No; you are right there," returned the student. "They cannot speak, but
they can make signs. Have you ever noticed that when the wind blows a
little the flowers nod to each other and move all their green leaves? They can make each other understand in this way just as well as we do by
talking." "And does the professor understand their pantomime?" asked Ida. "Oh, certainly; at least part of it. He came into his garden one morning
and saw that a great stinging nettle was making signs with its leaves to
a beautiful red carnation. It was saying, 'You are so beautiful, and I
love you with all my heart!' But the professor doesn't like that sort of
thing, and he rapped the nettle on her leaves, which are her fingers;
but she stung him, and since then he has never dared to touch a nettle." "Ha! ha!" laughed little Ida, "that is very funny." "How can one put such stuff into a child's head?" said a tiresome
councilor, who had come to pay a visit. He did not like the student and
always used to scold when he saw him cutting out the droll pasteboard
figures, such as a man hanging on a gibbet and holding a heart in his
hand to show that he was a stealer of hearts, or an old witch riding on
a broomstick and carrying her husband on the end of her nose. The
councilor could not bear such jokes, and he would always say, as now:
"How can any one put such notions into a child's head? They are only
foolish fancies." But to little Ida all that the student had told her was very
entertaining, and she kept thinking it over. She was sure now that her
pretty yesterday's flowers hung their heads because they were tired, and
that they were tired because they had been to the ball. So she took them
to the table where stood her toys. Her doll lay sleeping, but Ida said
to her, "You must get up, and be content to sleep to-night in the table
drawer, for the poor flowers are ill and must have your bed to sleep in;
then perhaps they will be well again by to-morrow." And she at once took the doll out, though the doll looked vexed at
giving up her cradle to the flowers. Ida laid the flowers in the doll's bed and drew the coverlet quite over
them, telling them to lie still while she made some tea for them to
drink, in order that they might be well next day. And she drew the
curtains about the bed, that the sun might not shine into their eyes. All the evening she thought of nothing but what the student had told
her; and when she went to bed herself, she ran to the window where her
mother's tulips and hyacinths stood. She whispered to them, "I know very
well that you are going to a ball to-night."