it;
and then, if you tumble over them, they're ever so sticky!"

By this time we had nearly finished the garden. I had fetched some
violets, and Bruno was just helping me to put in the last, when he
suddenly stopped and said, "I'm tired."

"Rest, then," I said; "I can go on without you."

Bruno needed no second invitation: he at once began arranging the mouse
as a kind of sofa. "And I'll sing you a little song," he said as he
rolled it about.

"Do," said I: "there's nothing I should like better."

"Which song will you choose?" Bruno said, as he dragged the mouse into
a place where he could get a good view of me. "'Ting, ting, ting,' is
the nicest."

There was no resisting such a strong hint as this: however, I pretended
to think about it for a moment, and then said, "Well, I like 'Ting,
ting, ting,' best of all."

"That shows you're a good judge of music," Bruno said, with a pleased
look. "How many bluebells would you like?" And he put his thumb into
his mouth to help me to consider.

As there was only one bluebell within easy reach, I said very gravely
that I thought one would do _this_ time, and I picked it and gave it to
him. Bruno ran his hand once or twice up and down the flowers,--like a
musician trying an instrument,--producing a most delicious delicate
tinkling as he did so. I had never heard flower-music before,--I don't
think one can unless one's in the "eerie" state,--and I don't know
quite how to give you an idea of what it was like, except by saying
that it sounded like a peal of bells a thousand miles off.

When he had satisfied himself that the flowers were in tune, he seated
himself on the mouse (he never seemed really comfortable anywhere
else), and, looking up at me with a merry twinkle in his eyes, he
began. By the way, the tune was rather a curious one, and you might
like to try it for yourself, so here are the notes:

[Illustration]

"Rise, oh, rise! The daylight dies:
The owls are hooting, ting, ting, ting!
Wake, oh, wake! Beside the lake
The elves are fluting, ting, ting, ting!
Welcoming our fairy king
We sing, sing, sing."

He sang the first four lines briskly and merrily, making the bluebells
chime in time with the music; but the last two he sang quite slowly and
gently, and merely waved the flowers backward and forward above his
head. And when he had finished the first verse, he left off to explain.

"The name of our fairy king is Obb