He continued, however, always moody and serious, in spite of the utmost
pains that the squirrel, the monkey, the parrot, and the bullfinch could
take to divert him, and set him in the right way. The goose told stories,
the brook jingled a ballad between, a great thick stone cut ridiculous
capers, the rose stole lovingly about him from behind and crept through
his locks, while the ivy stroked his troubled brow. But his melancholy and
gravity were stubborn. His parents were much troubled, and did not know
what to do. He was in good health, and ate well enough; they had never
caused him any offence; and, until a few years ago, he had been the
liveliest and merriest of them all, foremost in all their games, and a
favourite with all the maidens. He was very handsome, looked like a
picture, and danced like an angel. Amongst the maidens was one, a charming
and beautiful creature, who looked like wax, had hair like golden silk,
and cherry-red lips, was a doll for size, and had coal-black, yes,
raven-black eyes. Whoever saw her was ready to swoon, she was so lovely.
Now Rosebud, for that was her name, was heartily fond of the handsome
Hyacinth, for that was his name, and he loved her fit to die. The other
children knew nothing of it. A violet told them of it first. The little
house-cats had been quite aware of it, for the houses of their parents lay
near each other. So when Hyacinth stood at night by his window, and
Rosebud at hers, and the cats ran past mouse-hunting, they saw the two
standing there, and often laughed and tittered so loud that they heard it
and were offended.
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