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“ Poor flowers are quite dead， said little Ida， “they were so pretty yesterday evening， and now all the leaves are hanging down quite withered. What do they do that for， she asked， of the student who sat on the sofa; she liked him very much， he could tell the most amusing stories， and cut out the prettiest pictures; hearts， and ladies dancing， castles with doors that opened， as well as flowers; he was a delightful student. “Why do the flowers look so faded to-day? she asked again， and pointed to her nosegay， which was quite withered. “Don't you know what is the matter with them? said the student. “The flowers were at a ball last night， and therefore， it is no wonder they hang their heads. “But flowers cannot dance? cried little Ida. “Yes indeed， they can， replied the student. “When it grows dark， and everybody is asleep， they jump about quite merrily. They have a ball almost every night. “Can children go to these balls? “Yes， said the student， “little daisies and lilies of the valley. “Where do the beautiful flowers dance? asked little Ida. “Have you not often seen the large castle outside the gates of the town， where the king lives in summer， and where the beautiful garden is full of flowers? And have you not fed the swans with bread when they swam towards you? Well， the flowers have capital balls there， believe me. | 
