the winds carried the tidings over the garden, and bird and blossom
looked upon him as an evil spirit, and fled away or closed their
leaves, lest he should harm them.
Thus he went, leaving sorrow and pain behind him, till he came to the
roses where Lily-Bell lay sleeping. There, weary of his cruel sport,
he stayed to rest beneath a graceful rose-tree, where grew one
blooming flower and a tiny bud.
“Why are you so slow in blooming, little one? You are too old to be
rocked in your green cradle longer, and should be out among your
sister flowers,” said Thistle, as he lay idly in the shadow of the
tree.
“My little bud is not yet strong enough to venture forth,” replied the
rose, as she bent fondly over it; “the sunlight and the rain would
blight her tender form, were she to blossom now, but soon she will be
fit to bear them; till then she is content to rest beside her mother,
and to wait.”
“You silly flower,” said Thistledown, “see how quickly I will make you
bloom! your waiting is all useless.” And speaking thus, he pulled
rudely apart the folded leaves, and laid them open to the sun and air;
while the rose mother implored the cruel Fairy to leave her little bud
untouched.
“It is my first, my only one,” said she, “and I have watched over it
with such care, hoping it would soon bloom beside me; and now you have
destroyed it. How could you harm the little helpless one, that never
did aught to injure you?” And while her tears fell like summer rain,
she drooped in grief above the little bud, and sadly watched it fading
in the sunlight; but Thistledown, heedless of the sorrow he had given,
spread his wings and flew away.
Soon the sky grew dark, and heavy drops began to fall. Then Thistle
hastened to the lily, for her cup was deep, and the white leaves
fell like curtains over the fragrant bed; he was a dainty little Elf,
and could not sleep among the clovers and bright buttercups. But
when he asked the flower to unfold her leaves and take him in, she
turned her pale, soft face away, and answered sadly, “I must shield my
little drooping sisters whom you have harmed, and cannot let you in.”
Then Thistledown was very angry, and turned to find shelter among the
stately roses; but they showed their sharp thorns, and, while their
rosy faces glowed with anger, told him to begone, or they would repay
him for the wrong he had done their gentle kindred.
He would have stayed to harm them, but the rain fell fast, and he
hurried away, saying, “The tulips will take me in, for I have praised
their beauty, and they are vain and foolish flowers.”
But when he came, all wet and cold, praying for shelter among their
thick leaves, they only laughed and said scornfully, “We know you,
and will not let you in, for you are false and cruel, and will
only bring us sorrow. You need not come to us for another mantle,
when the rain has spoilt your fine one; and do not stay here, or
we will do you harm.”
Then they waved their broad leaves stormily, and scattered the heavy
drops on his dripping garments.
“Now must I go to the humble daisies and blue violets,” said Thistle,
“they will be glad to let in so fine a Fairy, and I shall die in
this cold wind and rain.”
So away he flew, as fast as his heavy wings would bear him, to the
daisies; but they nodded their heads wisely, and closed their leaves
yet closer, saying sharply,–
“Go away with yourself, and do not imagine we will open our leaves
to you, and spoil our seeds by letting in the rain. It serves you
rightly; to gain our love and confidence, and repay it by such
cruelty! You will find no shelter here for one whose careless hand
wounded our little friend Violet, and broke the truest heart that ever
beat in a flower’s breast. We are very angry with you, wicked Fairy;