"We must go and see the boats," said Lena gaily, taking Botho's hand and urging him along, but before they could reach the boat builder's yard the sound of hammer and axe ceased and the bells began to ring, announcing the close of the day's work. So they turned aside, perhaps a hundred paces from the dockyard into a path which led diagonally across a field, to a pine wood. The reddish trunks of the trees glowed wonderfully in the light of the sinking sun, while their tops seemed floating in a bluish mist. "I wish I could pick you a pretty bunch of flowers," said Botho, taking Lena's hand. "But look, there is just the grassy field, all grass and no flowers. Not one." "But there are plenty. Only you do not see them, because you are too exacting." "And even if I were, it is only for your sake." "Now, no excuses. You shall see that I can find some." And stooping down, she searched right and left saying: "Only look, here ... and there ... and here again. There are more here than in Doerr's garden; only you must have an eye for them." And she plucked the flowers diligently, stooping for them and picking weeds and grass with them, until in a very short time she had a quantity both of attractive blossoms and of useless weeds in her hands. Meanwhile they had come to an old empty fisherman's hut, in front of which lay an upturned boat on a strip of sand strewn with pine cones from the neighboring wood. "This is just right for us," said Botho: "we will sit down here. You must be tired. And now let me see what you have gathered. I don't believe you know yourself, and I shall have to play the botanist. Give them here. This is ranunculus, or buttercup, and this is mouse's ear. Some call it false forget-me-not. False, do you hear? And this one with the notched leaf is taraxacum, our good old dandelion, which the French use for salad. Well, I don't mind. But there is a distinction between a salad and a bouquet." "Just give them back," laughed Lena. "You have no eye for such things, because you do not love them, and the eyes and love always belong together. First you said there were no flowers in the field, and now, when we find them, you will not admit that they are really flowers. But they are flowers, and pretty ones too. What will you bet that I can make you something pretty out of them." "I am really curious to see what you will choose." "Only those that you agree to. And now let us begin. Here is a forget-me-not, but no mouse's ear--forget-me-not, but a real one. Do you agree?" "Yes." "And this is speedwell, the prize of honor, a dainty little blossom. That is surely good enough for you. I do not even need to ask. And this big reddish brown one is the devil's paintbrush, and must have grown on purpose for you. Oh yes, laugh at it. And these," and she stooped to pick a couple of yellow blossoms, that were growing in the sand at her feet, "these are immortelles."