From this time, Piccolissima became one of the happiest little creatures in the world. Her brother, instead of considering her only as a toy to play with, began to respect her. She had no more conversations with the flies, to be sure. Her mind grew, and she learned that, small as she was, she was superior to the best informed fly. She studied the habits and doings of the ants, and learned a great deal about their different tribes and nations. Sometimes her brother would take his sister's toilet cushion and put it on the table before him, and seating Piccolissima upon it, say to her, "Now, Piccola, dear, listen with both of your little ears to my big words, and I will read some wonderful stories to you." Once he read Gulliver's Travels to her. "O!" she exclaimed, as he read of the Lilliputians, "O, good! good! I am a Lilliputian, and you are all great, big Brobdignagians. Why did you not tell me this before?" So she began to dance and skip about, like a jack-o'-lantern. Her brother, who was delighted at her gambols, whistled a tune for her to dance by. Presently Piccolissima began to sing, with her small, fine voice, this song, which she made as she danced:-- Merrily, merrily, dance away! Merrily laugh, and merrily play! Though I am a tiny thing, I can dance, and I can sing; I can hear, and I can see; I don't care who laughs at me; I can learn all things to know; So sing merrily, merrily, O! The morning was lovely; the blue shadows, extending over the fields, made the leaves of the chestnut trees, wet with the morning dew, still more brilliant. Agitated by a light breeze, they glistened in the rays of the rising sun. Every blade of grass lifted its dewy head as soon as a ray fell upon it, and each in its turn was crowned with its halo of diamonds. The flowers, in sweet accord, sent up their perfume towards heaven. Already the lark had saluted the day with his brilliant song, eternal hymn, ever repeated, never omitted. Every little bird sent up his clear note and his joyous song from his nest; the insects were beginning to hum. The sound of the voice of man, slow to join in the morning prayer of the whole creation, was not yet heard when Piccolissima, already awake, entered the garden. She had obtained permission to do so the evening before. Her mother's confidence had increased with the growing prudence and good sense of the little girl; qualities which a habit of observation has the effect of strengthening rapidly.