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- Стр. 8/22
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"
I
do
n't
understand
that
at
all
,
"
said
little
Gerda
.
"
That
is
my
story
,
"
said
the
Lily
.
What
did
the
Convolvulus
say
?
"
Projecting
over
a
narrow
mountain-path
there
hangs
an
old
feudal
castle
.
Thick
evergreens
grow
on
the
dilapidated
walls
,
and
around
the
altar
,
where
a
lovely
maiden
is
standing
:
she
bends
over
the
railing
and
looks
out
upon
the
rose
.
No
fresher
rose
hangs
on
the
branches
than
she
;
no
appleblossom
carried
away
by
the
wind
is
more
buoyant
!
How
her
silken
robe
is
rustling
!
"
'
Is
he
not
yet
come
?
'
"
"
Is
it
Kay
that
you
mean
?
"
asked
little
Gerda
.
"
I
am
speaking
about
my
story
--
about
my
dream
,
"
answered
the
Convolvulus
.
What
did
the
Snowdrops
say
?
"
Between
the
trees
a
long
board
is
hanging
--
it
is
a
swing
.
Two
little
girls
are
sitting
in
it
,
and
swing
themselves
backwards
and
forwards
;
their
frocks
are
as
white
as
snow
,
and
long
green
silk
ribands
flutter
from
their
bonnets
.
Their
brother
,
who
is
older
than
they
are
,
stands
up
in
the
swing
;
he
twines
his
arms
round
the
cords
to
hold
himself
fast
,
for
in
one
hand
he
has
a
little
cup
,
and
in
the
other
a
clay-pipe
.
He
is
blowing
soap-bubbles
.
The
swing
moves
,
and
the
bubbles
float
in
charming
changing
colors
:
the
last
is
still
hanging
to
the
end
of
the
pipe
,
and
rocks
in
the
breeze
.
The
swing
moves
.
The
little
black
dog
,
as
light
as
a
soap-bubble
,
jumps
up
on
his
hind
legs
to
try
to
get
into
the
swing
.
It
moves
,
the
dog
falls
down
,
barks
,
and
is
angry
.
They
tease
him
;
the
bubble
bursts
!
A
swing
,
a
bursting
bubble
--
such
is
my
song
!
"
"
What
you
relate
may
be
very
pretty
,
but
you
tell
it
in
so
melancholy
a
manner
,
and
do
not
mention
Kay
.
"
