" Deeper, poor creature !
Winter may come." "" He cannot reach her—
That is a hum." " She is buried, the beauty ! "
" Now she is done." " That was the duty."
" Now for the fun."
And with a wild laugh they sprang away, most of them towards the cottage. During the latter part of the song-talk, they had formed themselves into a funeral procession, two of them bearing poor Primrose, whose death Pocket had hastened by biting her stalk, upon one of her own great leaves. They bore her solemnly along some distance, and then buried her under a tree. Although I say her, I saw nothing but the withered primrose-flower on its long stalk. Pocket, who had been expelled from the company by common consent, went sulkily away towards her hammock, for she was the fairy of the calceolaria, and looked rather wicked. When she reached its stem, she stopped and looked round. I could not help speaking to her, for I stood near her. I said: " Pocket, how could you be so naughty ? "
" I am never naughty," she said, half-crossly, half-defiantly; " only if you come near my hammock, I will bite you, and then you will go away."