“Tick! Tock! Yes, there was,” the Clock replied. “She told you to wind me up. Climb on a chair and do it carefully. Don’t shake me. I can’t stand that, for I’m not as young as I used to be.” “And I want a drink!” cried the youngest geranium, who was little, and had been hidden by the bigger pots when Goran watered them. _Knock, knock, knock!_ What a knocking at the door! Goran ran to open it, and the firelight fell on Nanna the Goat and Gustava the Hen against a background of whirling snow. Nanna was wearing Grandmother’s quilted jacket—where in the world had she found that? And Gustava had wrapped Goran’s muffler about herself and the little basket she carried on her wing. “Good evening!” began Nanna, rather timidly for her. “May Gustava and I come in and sit by the fire? We thought you might be lonely, and then it is so cold in the shed. I did have a muffler like Gustava’s, but I absent-mindedly ate it. I’m growing _very_ absent-minded. We’ve come with an important message for you, but I can’t remember what it is. Can you, Gustava?” “Cluck! Clu-uck! No, I can’t. But I’ve brought my beautiful child to call on you,” said Gustava; and she lifted her wing and showed Goran the brown egg in her basket. “Shut the door! Shut the door!” several Geraniums called indignantly. “We are very delicate, and we shall catch our deaths of cold!” So in came Nanna and Gustava and Gustava’s Egg, and Goran shut the door. “Present my subjects!” commanded the Queen of Clubs, and Goran saw that she was no longer a little card, but a lady as big as his grandmother. In front she still wore her blue and red and yellow dress, but in back she was all blue, every inch of her, with a pattern of gilt stars, and when she turned sideways she seemed to vanish, for she was only as thick as cardboard. But she was so proud and grand that Goran wished he had on his Sunday suit, with the long black trousers and the short black jacket with its big silver buttons, the waistcoat all covered with needlework flowers, and the raspberry pink neckerchief. “This is Nanna, our Goat, your Majesty,” he said. “Goat, you may kiss my hand,” said the Queen. “I don’t know whether I want to,” replied rude Nanna, who had never been presented to a Queen before, and didn’t know the proper way to behave. “Mercy on us! What manners!” cried the Geraniums, blushing deep red that the Queen should be spoken to in that manner, in what they thought of as _their_ house. “But I wouldn’t mind eating your yellow flower,” continued Nanna. “I like to eat flowers.” And she looked at the Geraniums, who nearly fainted. “Your turn next,” said the Queen to Gustava. She had heard gentlemen say that so often when they were playing _Skat_ with her and her companions that she always repeated it when she could think of nothing else to say.