“So,” continued Bramber, “when the English tried to pronounce the French name, _Fleurs d’Avril_, they made daverils, and then slid away into further difference, and settled down on daffodils. Do you know about the Conquest by the Normans?” Kate shook her head sadly. “I know nothing--nothing at all.” Then, after a pause, she asked timidly, “Will you be very good and kind, and repeat those verses, and let me learn them by heart? Oh,” she gasped, and expanded, and clasped her hands, “it would be such a joy to me! and I could repeat them for ever and ever, and be happy.” “I shall be delighted.” Kate planted herself on one of the benches by the table, leaned her chin in her hands, and listened to each line of the poem with concentrated attention. One or two words she did not understand, and Bramber explained their meaning to her. When the piece had been read over slowly, she said-- “May I try? Do you mind? I think I know it.” Then she recited the poem with perfect accuracy. “You are quick at learning,” said Bramber. “I hope I may find my pupils in the National School as eager to acquire and as ready to apprehend.” “I never heard words like these before,” said Kate. “May I tell you what they are like to me?” “Certainly.” “They are like lightning on a still night, without rain, without thunder. The heavens are open and there is light--that is all. Is there more in that book?” “A great deal,” answered the young man; and, pointing to the celandines in Kate’s bosom, said, “The poet has something to say about these flowers.” “What, buttercups?” “They are not buttercups. Take them out from where they are pinned. I will teach you a lesson--how to distinguish sorts.” As the girl removed the bunch and placed it on the table, he said, “Do you see the petals? The golden leaves of the flower are called petals. They are pointed. Now, remember, a buttercup has rounded petals.” “You are right, and they come out later. They are more like little drunkards.” “Drunkards? What do you mean?” “The large golden cups that grow by the water’s edge--these we call drunkards, but they drink only water.” “You mean the marsh marigold.” “Perhaps so, but it is very different from the marigold of the garden. The leaves”-- Bramber laughed. “Now you are going to teach me to distinguish. You are quite right--that water-drinker is not a marigold at all. But country people give it that name because it is the great golden flower that blooms at or about Lady Day, and the lady is the Virgin Mary. Now consider. The celandine has sharply-pointed petals. Do you see the difference between them and those of the golden water-drinker?” “I see this clearly now.” “He who wrote those verses about the daffodils has written three poems on the celandine.” “What! on these little flowers?” Kate coloured with delight and surprise. “Yes, and very beautiful they are. I will reserve them for another day. You have enough to think about in the lines on the daffodils.”