“These funny little fellows,” Avril told him, “are not as beautiful and proud as the flowers; they hold their heads less high, but they are all extremely worthy and one would find it difficult to get along without them.” “They look good enough to eat,” said Philippe, who was beginning to feel very empty. “They are,” said Avril. “And is all this garden mine?” asked Philippe. “Yes,” answered the little girl, curtsying again before him, and added: “All yours—King Philippe!” “Oh, you mustn’t call me ‘King,’ that is, when we’re not playing games, you know,” Philippe warned her, rather shocked. “Kings are grand people with treasures hidden away in strong chests, and they wear crowns of gold and have thousands of servants. I know, because I have read all about them in a book which my mother gave to me. I am a farmer’s son, and can never be so wonderful a person as a King.” His companion looked at him very thoughtfully, and at last spoke: “You are a King, Philippe. Sun, Moon, and Stars shine down upon your head a crown; the whole earth is yours, the great strong chest of hidden treasures. From the time the first small star hung like a lonely spark in space, your servants have been preparing for you a kingdom, the kingdom of Earth, than which there is only one greater. And that kingdom, too, will be yours some day if you rule wisely and well in this, and are kind, and strong-and gentle.” “It may be true,” said Philippe, rather bewildered by the wonderful things he was hearing. “But I am quite sure that I have no servants; why—little though I am, even I must help my father in the fields.” “We are all your servants. Is it not true, Grandmother Rain?” A shower suddenly passed over the garden, decking the flowers in crystal splendor, and from a small cloud overhead Philippe could distinctly hear the voice of Grandmother: “Yes. I have worked for Philippe’s father and his grandfathers from the very beginning of things, and I hope to work for his children and his childrens’ children for time evermore. Do not think badly of me, Philippe, if I do not come and go just to your liking, for I am very busy, with much important work to attend to.” “Is it not true, Grandfather Snow?” “Aye, so it is!” came a voice from the bright hill beyond the garden wall. “Is it not true, Uncle Wind?”