“And now I have another idea,” said Thorsby, suddenly getting up, and fetching the water-lilies from the boat. Putting these down, he took Tom Boddily, and soon returned with an armful of flowers, meadow-sweet, forget-me-nots, like lapis lazuli; and by the aid of the ladies, and some strings of osier-bark, these were woven into garlands, which he said they would hang up in honour of this day. When they were finished, however, here and there interspersed with oak and hazel-leaves, Thorsby immediately proceeded to crown the ladies with them. Truly they looked very beautiful, and Thorsby was complimented on his taste. George, who had quietly gone aside, dexterously took off Letty’s garland, and put her on one of willow, in pretence that she was forsaken. Thorsby as quietly plucked it off, and replaced it by one of forget-me-nots, putting the willow on George’s head amid much mirth. Betty Trapps, however, was indignant at the water-lilies, because, she said, they came out of deep water, which meant trouble; and, as for forget-me-nots, “It’s all wrong,” she added. “All wrong!” exclaimed Thorsby. “Why, forget-me-nots are most poetical and significant. Everybody likes forget-me-nots.” “Well, everybody doesn’t, for I don’t,” said Betty. “Why, you don’t like true blue, then, Betty,” said Thorsby. “True fiddlesticks!” said Betty; “don’t tell me about true blue. ‘Green’s forsaken, Blue’s forsworn, Pink’s the colour as should be worn, Blue and yellow The lads will follow, Green and blue Will never prove true,’ and you’ve got both in these garlands.” “Why, that is a new philosophy,” said Thorsby. “New philosophy it may be,” said Betty, “but it’s old truth; old as my great-grandmother, and older, I’ll be bound. It is true as Scripture, for it comes down from our old auncetters, and has proved its-sen true, or it wouldna have lasted till now.” Betty then began gathering the tea-tackle, as she called it, together, and sung to herself— “How hard is my fate, once I freedah enjied, Andars happy as happy could be; I was seized by the forces their fires to feed, And captain for loss of the sea.” “What is the meaning of that, Betty?” asked Thorsby. “Meaning? It’s a song my mother used to sing,” said Betty, going on with her picking up cups and saucers, and giving them to Boddily to stow away in a basket, “to us children to get us to sleep, and I’ve cried my eyes out many a time, and gone to sleep sobbing, and dost think I don’t know th’ meaning on’t? Oh, it’s very cutting, is that owd song.” “Well,” said Thorsby, “I have heard something like it, which I do understand;” and he sang— “How hard is my fate, once I freedom enjoyed, And was happy as happy could be; I was seized by the foes their fiat to feel, And was captive, alas! on the sea.”