Sunbeam, in the meantime, had been busy rearranging the table which had passed here from yesterday’s dining-room, so she told me. She and I together went to gather flowers and fruit, whilst our mother went to make the beds. I remembered that Vestné had performed these offices every morning and alone. I found myself wondering vaguely had she loved her work as much as these, and then I recollected that she must have done, because often from the open windows I had heard her singing gaily, though the songs had brought no happiness to me. “Which is your favourite flower?” asked Sunbeam. “Lily of the valley.” “Then we’ll gather that.” “Which is your favourite?” “Red roses,” she replied. “Moonbeam likes white ones, and chrysanthemums.” “You have not been to see her yet?” “No. But I’m going when the work is done.” So we gathered red roses and white, and lily of the valley, and chrysanthemums, and green foliage, and carried them back to the house. We arranged the flowers between us, she and I, and were so absorbed that neither of us spoke. After a while we were joined by Virginius. “What kind of fruit are we going to have for dinner, Sunbeam?” he asked. “Gooseberries,” she answered, and laughed. “You had better come to help us to gather them, and then we shall be sooner done.” “If it is to be gooseberries,” he went on, “we will come out to gather and eat them. Strawberries are best on a plate with cream, but gooseberries are best when picked from a tree.” Just then our mother entered. “There,” she cried, “I knew there would be little work done when I was away. Where is the fruit, Sunbeam? You have brought nothing but flowers.” “It’s gooseberries,” she said, looking up from a bowl of dark roses. “Father says he’s going to eat his out in the garden after.” “And are we all to do so?” “Yes, unless you want something else. I’ll go and gather it if you want something else.” “Oh, no. I think you had better run over and see Moonbeam now; and listen, Sunbeam, give them my love and say I should be very pleased if Moonbeam might be allowed to come and spend a little time in the city with us.” “Genius is going with me, and we’ll wait and bring her back with us if she can come.” So together we went, and as we crossed the gardens and the park many gentle animals bounded over our path. Tall deer that had been hunted in the chase, squirrels and timid rabbits, birds of all kinds and countries, horses and cattle grazing on rich slopes, and young lambs frisking over golden lawns, forgetful of the sacrifice of their young lives for man. How joyous and how free from fear their lives were here! The squirrels bounded along the track in front of us; the deer stared at us lazily as we passed; the birds flew from branch to branch, following our steps with music. “You are never quite alone then, even when you walk,” I began at last. “Not unless I want to be. We have to be alone sometimes, you know; if we weren’t we should never grow.”