"That is our Prince!" cried Ilse; "what can make him take such interest in me?" "The man wished to take some news home," replied her husband. "He was among the retinue on the hunting expedition last year; and it was kindly meant." This answer quieted Gabriel, and Ilse, much pleased, said: "It is so nice when one's Prince takes such interest in his children who are in trouble far from home." But there was some foundation withal for Gabriel's shaking his head; the inquiries did signify something. * * * Behind the buildings of a country farm-house, a young lady could be seen, tying up the wild flowers of the meadow in a large bouquet; a ball of blue yarn rolled in her lap whenever she added a fresh handful of flowers. A youth was running about in the deep grass before her, busily engaged in collecting flowers, placing them in order and arranging them according to color for the nosegay-maker. It was evident that the youth and young lady were brother and sister from the marked family likeness of both countenances, and the rich walking-dress left no doubt that they had not blossomed amidst the clover and camomile of the soil, even though the horses' heads and the galoon-trimmed hats of their attendants had not been visible through a gap between the barns. "You will never finish your bouquet, Siddy," said the young man, incredulously, to the lady, as she awkwardly tried to knot the broken thread. "If the thread were only stronger!" cried the busy maiden; "do knot it for me!" But it turned out that the young gentleman was not more expert himself. "Look, Benno, how beautiful the bouquet will be,--that was my idea." "It is all much too loose," retorted the young man. "It is good enough for the first time," replied Siddy; "there, see my hands, how sweet they smell." She showed the blue points of her little fingers, holding them up to his face; and as he good-humoredly sniffed at them, she playfully rapped him on the nose. "I have enough of the red flowers," she continued, again occupied with the nosegay; "now I must have one more circle of white." "What kind of white?" "If I did but know their names," replied Siddy, thoughtfully; "I mean Marguerites. What do you call these white flowers?" she asked, looking back to a countrywoman who stood in a respectful attitude some steps behind the busy pair, looking on at their proceedings with a pleased smile. "We call them daisies," said the woman. "Ah, that's it?" cried Siddy; "cut long stalks, Benno." "They haven't got long stalks," said Benno, plaintively, carrying her what he could pick near at hand. "I will tell you what astonishes me," he began, sitting down by his sister on the grass. "This meadow is full of flowers; when it is mowed the grass becomes hay, and one doesn't see a thing of all the flowers in the hay." "Really?" replied Siddy, tieing another thread. "They are probably dried up."