Butterflies with gaily painted wings hovered tenderly overhead, and tiny silver thistledown balls sailed across the blue sky spaces, like little wayward balloons without anybody in charge of them. "You can all pick as many flowers as you like," suggested the Lion. "Flowers were meant for the children to pick, so make yourselves nosegays, garlands, and crowns galore. There are no notices _here_ to keep off the grass. You can also chase the butterflies if you like, but I warn you that you will never catch them. As a matter of fact that is the one thing I don't permit. Any butterfly with really nice feelings objects most decidedly when a pin is run through its body, as much as a happy fish hates to be caught upon a hook. I sympathise with both of them, and consider such practices ought to be stopped." Ridgwell, well-nigh immersed in a bank of bluebells, listened in a semi-enchanted condition to the Lion's words of wisdom, and watched the brilliant-coloured butterflies chasing each other in the pearly spaces above him. Christine, grasping a great yellow bunch of primroses in each hand, ceased picking flowers and watched the bright-eyed squirrels and rabbits gambolling everywhere around. "Ridgie, have you noticed all the rabbits and squirrels are quite tame?" "Of course they're tame," agreed the Lion, "Nobody here to hurt them; why, they will come and eat out of your hand." "Why is that?" asked Ridgwell. "No guns or traps," chuckled the Lion. "Any animal respectably brought up is indignant at the very thought of a gun or a trap; consequently they keep themselves to themselves, and seldom go out into society." Ridgwell's gaze roamed over the lovely spring landscape, and rested upon the masses of flowers the other children were picking. "Everything here is just as it ought to be, isn't it, Lal?" "Every single thing," answered the Lion. "But it is going to change, you know, almost directly." "Change?" echoed Ridgwell. "Why, Lal?" The Pleasant-Faced Lion chuckled softly, and lifting his head, called out, "Summer." Immediately the Lion said "Summer," everything around commenced to alter most strangely. Banks of primroses became stretches of sparkling golden sands, and the great masses of bluebells, after swaying once or twice, dissolved themselves into the misty rippling waves of a summer sea. Christine and Ridgwell, looking hopelessly perplexed, found they were each in a tiny boat with a pearly sail, skimming over shallow blue waters that sparkled like sapphires. The sky over their heads had changed to the burning blue of a summer day. The air was filled with the sweet salt spray of the sea, which descended in delicious showers upon all of them. "Have all the children got boats?" demanded the Lion.