idleness by a general holiday. They were standing about in groups, or
lying ranked like new-plucked flowers on the banks, piping to each
other through reeds as soft and melodious as running water. They were
playing inconsequent games and breaking off in the middle of them like
children looking for new pleasures. They were idling about the
drinking booths, delicately stupid with quaint, thin wines, dealt out
to all who asked; the maids were ready to chevy or be chevied through
the blossoming thickets by anyone who chanced upon them, the men
slipped their arms round slender waists and wandered down the paths,
scarce seeming to care even whose waist it was they circled or into
whose ear they whispered the remainder of the love-tale they had begun
to some one else. And everywhere it was "Hi," and "Ha," and "So," and
"See," as these quaint people called to one another, knowing each other
as familiarly as ants of a nest, and by the same magic it seemed to me.

"An," I said presently, when we had wandered an hour or so through the
drifting throng, "have these good countrymen of yours no other names
but monosyllabic, nothing to designate them but these chirruping
syllables?"

"Is it not enough?" answered my companion. "Once indeed I think we had
longer names, but," she added, smiling, "how much trouble it saves to
limit each one to a single sound. It is uncivil to one's neighbours to
burden their tongues with double duty when half would do."

"But have you no patronymics--nothing to show the child comes of the
same source as his father came?"

"We have no fathers."

"What! no fathers?" I said, starting and staring at her.

"No, nor mothers either, or at least none that we remember, for again,
why should we? Mayhap in that strange district you come from you keep
count of these things, but what have we to do with either when their
initial duty is done. Look at that painted butterfly swinging on the
honey-laden catkin there. What knows she of the mother who shed her
life into a flowercup and forgot which flower it was the minute
afterwards. We, too, are insects, stranger."

"And do you mean to say of this great concourse here, that every atom
is solitary, individual, and can claim no kindred with another save the
loose bonds of a general fraternity--a specious idea, horrible,
impracticable!"

Whereat An laughed. "Ask the grasshoppers if it is impracticable; ask
the little buzzing things of grass and leaves who