I silently pointed out to Bruno the best place to lead her to, so as to get a view of the whole garden at
once: it was a little rising ground, about the height of a potato; and, when they had mounted it, I drew
back into the shade, that Sylvie mightn't see me.
I heard Bruno cry out triumphantly "Now oo may look!" and then followed a clapping of hands, but it was
all done by Bruno himself. Sylvie: was silent----she only stood and gazed with her hands clasped together,
and I was half afraid she didn't like it after all.
Bruno too was watching her anxiously, and when she jumped down off the mound, and began wandering
up and down the little walks, he cautiously followed her about, evidently anxious that she should form
her own opinion of it all, without any hint from him. And when at last she drew a long breath, and gave
her verdict----in a hurried whisper, and without the slightest regard to grammar---- "It's the loveliest thing
as I never saw in all my life before!" the little fellow looked as well pleased as if it had been given by all
the judges and juries in England put together.
"And did you really do it all by yourself, Bruno?" said Sylvie. "And all for me?"
"I was helped a bit," Bruno began, with a merry little laugh at her surprise. "We've been at it all the afternoon----
I thought oo'd like----" and here the poor little fellow's lip began to quiver, and all in a moment he burst
out crying, and running up to Sylvie he flung his arms passionately round her neck, and hid his face on
her shoulder.
There was a little quiver in Sylvie's voice too, as she whispered "Why, what's the matter, darling?" and
tried to lift up his head and kiss him.
But Bruno only clung to her, sobbing, and wouldn't be comforted till he had confessed. "I tried----to spoil
oor garden----first----but I'll never----never----" and then came another burst of tears, which drowned the
rest of the sentence. At last he got out the words "I liked----putting in the flowers----for oo, Sylvie ----and
I never was so happy before." And the rosy little face came up at last to be kissed, all wet with tears as it
was.
Sylvie was crying too by this time, and she said nothing but "Bruno, dear!" and "I never was so happy
before," though why these two children who had never been so happy before should both be crying was
a mystery to me.
I felt very happy too, but of course I didn't cry: "big things" never do, you know we leave all that to the
Fairies. Only I think it must have been raining a little just then, for I found a drop or two on my cheeks.
After that they went through the whole garden again, flower by flower, as if it were a long sentence they
were spelling out, with kisses for commas, and a great hug by way of a full-stop when they got to the
end.
"Doos oo know, that was my river-edge, Sylvie?" Bruno solemnly began.
Sylvie laughed merrily. "What do you mean?" she said. And she pushed back her heavy brown hair with
both hands, and looked at him with dancing eyes in which the big teardrops were still glittering.
Bruno drew in a long breath, and made up his mouth for a great effort. "I mean revenge," he said: "now
oo under'tand." And he looked so happy and proud at having said the word right at last, that I quite envied
him. I rather think Sylvie didn't "under'tand" at all; but she gave him a little kiss on each cheek, which
seemed to do just as well.
So they wandered off lovingly together, in among the buttercups, each with an arm twined round the
other, whispering and laughing as they went, and never so much as once looked back at poor me. Yes,
once, just before I quite lost sight of them, Bruno half turned his head, and nodded me a saucy little