The next morning dawned fair, and she rose bewitched with what she had been through. The sunset and the silvery notes of the thrush all came back to her. She went down by the lake. It was very different now. Its blue was sparkling with the rays of the sun, whereas before it had looked very solitary—an icy cold blue. There was no beach—just a grassy bank—and in the shallow water she saw some little silvery fishes swimming and playing in shoals. And she watched them in their happy play for a long time, fascinated by the way they raced after each other around the shining stones and pebbles. Because they were so bright and gleaming, poor little Fleuriss thought that they were some rare and unheard-of fish, little dreaming that they were just common minnows.
Eepersip came back that day in a strange way. Fleuriss was looking down on the meadowy side of the hill, where the long green grass waved in the wind and butterflies were fluttering. And as she looked, suddenly—there was Eepersip standing in front of her. She had come from nowhere—she was just there without coming at all. Fleuriss was appalled. She remembered that strange dancing—was her sister about to melt into the air? Fleuriss stood stock-still.
Finally she raised her head and said, at first faintly, but with growing enthusiasm: “Oh, Eepersip, last night there was a great rose, and I was inside it—and I found a beautiful lake with fishes in it—oh, wonderful fishes of silver—and the beautiful birdie sang me to sleep in the flowers.” And then, her voice sounding strangely timid: “O Eepersip—I want—Mother—to see it—so beautiful. I love—it here, but—I know Mother would like to see it, too. And I guess I can’t get along without her. I guess I can’t, Eepersip.”
Eepersip was brokenhearted. “But, Fleuriss,” she said—and Fleuriss shuddered a very little as Eepersip took her hand—“Fleuriss, if your mother came, she would take you back home, and you would not be here any more. If she would come to see it, all right, but she would not—and so you would not see it either. Come on, show me the lake you found.”
Fleuriss was happy in a flash. Laughing and dancing, she took her sister down to the lake and showed her the wondrous fishes. They went in bathing together, and Eepersip showed Fleuriss how to swim, as she had shown Toby. Fleuriss was wild with joy. Then they splashed each other and played tag in the water. Eepersip puzzled Fleuriss by swimming under water, and Fleuriss would scream with delight when she came up in a totally unexpected place. This new pastime kept them happy for several days.
But again Fleuriss began to grow miserable—and homesick.
And again Eepersip resisted this feeling for a long time—two or three weeks of misery. But at the end of that time she began to think.
To begin with, she thought about where she had been on that little expedition of hers. She had been up toward those blue hills to see from nearer the snowy mountains. She had loved them more and wanted more than ever to go to them. She asked Fleuriss if she would not like to climb the high peaks with her. But Fleuriss replied, almost snappishly: “You know what I want, Eepersip.”
Of course this misery weighed down Eepersip’s mind frightfully; she was very uncomfortable. And then she began to think that after all she would want to be alone when she went amongst the mountains; Fleuriss would be all right if she were happy, perhaps, but a miserable companion would be unendurable. Perhaps she had made a mistake in taking Fleuriss away. Maybe it was true that they had to go in different directions—that she herself could not live at home, and that her little sister could not live elsewhere. And even in Eepersip’s untamed heart there was a bit of pity. And she found that that pity kept growing. How badly the Eigleens must feel, after all! Once she smothered it with the thought, “No, she will be happy if she stays long enough, and they will forget her.” But it only began to grow again.
Up to this unhappy time Fleuriss’s flowers had not withered or drooped: in this they were like those of Eepersip. But now Eepersip noticed that for some peculiar reason hers only stayed fresh and sweet. And then she thought again about the mountains and about those poor wasted flowers, and the pity grew and grew.
And one happy, happy day for Fleuriss, Eepersip led her safely home again.
“Goodbye, Fleuriss,” she said. “I’m sorry you wouldn’t stay with me.”
“Yes, I know, Eepersip, but I just couldn’t. Why don’t you come home—you’ve been away so long—and Mother cries for you still. Please come.”
“Oh, Fleuriss, I couldn’t. If I were to go back home now, I should just die—even with you.”
“Goodbye, then. Sometime I’m going to take Mother to see that beautiful hill.”
“But not for a long time?”
“As soon as I can.”
“Don’t.”
“Why?”
“You know. Please don’t.”
“Well, I’m not sure. I’m going to—pretty soon. Goodbye, Eepersip—Aren’t you ever coming home?”
“Oh, Fleuriss, no!”
“I wish you would.”
“But I can’t.”
“Won’t you let me take Mother and Daddy to live over there?”
“Well, after a while—if you want to. I shan’t be there.”
“Why, where are you going?”
“I’m going to the beautiful, beautiful white mountains. And then maybe the sea again, Fleuriss—the sea.”
“Oo!”
“Coming?”
“No! I’ll ask Mother to take me to the sea. She will.”
“Then—goodbye!”
And she decked Fleuriss’s fern dress with beautiful flowers—a crown of them and a girdle. A sweet wind arose, carrying the scent of Eepersip’s flowers to Fleuriss. A few butterflies were blown over to her. Eepersip stood on her
