But she could find none, and in her disappointment hot tears fell. And they fell on the very spot where the roses had grown, and as soon as the warm drops moistened the earth, the rose-bushes sprang up. "You are beautiful, beautiful," she said; but in a moment the tears fell again, for she thought of the rose-bushes in the balcony, and she remembered Kay. "Oh Kay, dear, dear Kay, is he dead?" she asked the roses. "No, he is not dead," they answered, "for we have been beneath the brown earth, and he is not there." "Then where, oh, where is he?" and she went from flower to flower whispering, "Have you seen little Kay?" But the flowers stood in the sunshine, dreaming their own dreams, and these they told the little maiden gladly, but of Kay they could not tell her, for they knew nothing. Then the little girl ran down the garden path until she came to the garden gate. She pressed the rusty latch. The gate flew open, and Gerda ran out on her little bare feet into the green fields. And she ran, and she ran, until she could run no longer. Then she sat down on a big stone to rest. "Why, it must be autumn," she said sorrowfully, as she looked around. And little Gerda felt sorry that she had stayed so long in the magic garden, where it was always summer. "Why have I not been seeking little Kay?" she asked herself, and she jumped up and trudged along, on and on, out into the great wide world. * * * At last the cold white winter came again, and still little Gerda was wandering alone through the wide world, for she had not found little Kay. "Caw, caw," said a big raven that hopped on the stone in front of her. "Caw, caw." "Have you seen little Kay?" asked Gerda, and she told the bird her sad story. "It may have been Kay," said the raven, "I cannot tell. But if it was, he will have forgotten you now that he lives with the princess." "Does he live with a princess?" asked Gerda. "Yes, he does. If you care to listen, I will tell you how it came about. In this kingdom lives a princess so clever that she has read all the newspapers in the world, and forgotten them again. Last winter she made up her mind to marry. Her husband, she said, must speak well. He must know the proper thing to say, and say it prettily. Otherwise she would not marry. I assure you what I say is perfectly true, for I have a tame sweetheart who lives at court, and she told me the whole story.