There was no end to his delight. The little birds warbled and sang, and fluttered and hopped about, and the delicate wood-flowers gave out their beauty and their odours; and every sweet sound took a sweet odour by the hand, and thus walked through the open door of the Child’s heart, and held a joyous nuptial dance therein. But the Nightingale and the Lily of the Valley led the dance; for the Nightingale sang of nought but love, and the Lily breathed of nought but innocence, and he was the bridegroom and she was the bride. And the Nightingale was never weary of repeating the same thing a hundred times over, for the spring of love which gushed from his heart was ever new—and the Lily bowed her head bashfully, that no one might see her glowing heart. And yet the one lived so solely and entirely in the other, that no one could see whether the notes of the Nightingale were floating lilies, or the lilies visible notes, falling like dewdrops from the Nightingale’s throat. The Child’s heart was full of joy even to the brim. He set himself down, and he almost thought he should like to take root there, and live for ever among the sweet plants and flowers, and so become a true sharer in all their gentle pleasures. For he felt a deep delight in the still, secluded, twilight existence of the mosses and small herbs, which felt not the storm, nor the frost, nor the scorching sunbeam; but dwelt quietly among their many friends and neighbours, feasting in peace and good fellowship on the dew and cool shadows which the mighty trees shed upon them. To them it was a high festival when a sunbeam chanced to visit their lowly home; whilst the tops of the lofty trees could find joy and beauty only in the purple rays of morning or evening. CHAPTER VI. AND as the Child sat there, a little Mouse rustled from among the dry leaves of the former year, and a Lizard half glided from a crevice in the rock, and both of them fixed their bright eyes upon the little stranger; and when they saw that he designed them no evil, they took courage and came nearer to him. “I should like to live with you,” said the Child to the two little creatures, in a soft, subdued voice, that he might not frighten them. “Your chambers are so snug, so warm, and yet so shaded, and the flowers grow in at your windows, and the birds sing you their morning song, and call you to table and to bed with their clear warblings.” “Yes,” said the Mouse, “it would be all very well if all the plants bore nuts and mast, instead of those silly flowers; and if I were not obliged to grub under ground in the spring, and gnaw the bitter roots, whilst they are dressing themselves in their fine flowers and flaunting it to the world, as if they had endless stores of honey in their cellars.”