--"Thologist," added Anthrops, much wondering at these new tricks of
the philosopher,--and then again he so much the more applauded his own
wisdom in exchanging for her society the company of an old owl.
So all the day long he stayed by her, all the day long he followed her,
rowing or walking or dancing, or sitting by her under the willows on the
banks of the river. The soft breeze routed her shining hair from its
compact masses; it touched his cheek as he knelt beside her to pull
up the tough-rooted columbine that resisted her fingers; her fragrant
breath mingled with the odor of the sweet-scented violets that he
plucked for her; the trailing tresses of the mournful willow, swaying in
the breeze, brushed them both; the murmuring water at their feet heard a
new tale as it flowed past her, and babbled it to him, adding delicious
nonsense of its own, endless variations upon the same sweet theme. How
happy he was that day! It came to an end, of course; but its death
scattered the seeds of other days, that sprang up in gracious profusion,
yielding dear delights of flower and fruit. All over his garden these
bright plants grew, gradually triumphing over and expelling the coarser
and ruder vegetables.
Nothing but flowers would he cultivate now,--and cared not even that
they should be perennials, if only the present blooming were gay and
gladsome.
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