In a cool twilight, when the white stars were coming out in the clear blue sky, a little Bunny sat under a bush.
Well, yes, you would think she must be sad sitting alone at twilight, and staring up into the sky; and perhaps she did feel a little lonely. But she had a nice soft rosy pink shawl about her shoulders, and her nice round rosy pink cheeks, and pretty brown fur made her feel happy, for they looked so nice and warm. Besides she had Daisy and Clover to look at under the bush; they were two of her very best friends, who were as happy and pretty as you could wish from the very tips of their little round flower-tops to the ends of their long green stems.
But Daisy’s and Clover’s heads were hanging sad and heavy now with twilight dew, for they felt that Misty would go crying home to grandma, who loved her so dearly, if they did not try to cheer her up. That naughty black-veined Fly Grass had told her there were such nice things in the queer meadow on the other side of the Great River, and she wanted to go there so very much too.
So Daisy began first, with all the pretty little stories that she could just remember to tell about the queer meadow where the stars live; and Clover ended with all that her mother had said about the Tender Blossom who gives up her life to feed us in winter, that she might tell Misty.
But at last she could mouth no more, and the last sleep-speaking words told slowly came from the other side of her pretty soft pink face.
“O do go to that meadow over there by the stars and flowers,” cried Clover, stretching out her stem, “and tell me sad me cannot go to cheer Misty up in the morning before she goes home; for they say that the stars will fly down and help you.”
“O I would lose, oh, I would all if I could only go to that meadow of my dreams, only once, once, twice I would go to it,” cried Misty.
So away they sent Sleep, and off he flew with the soft wind over the meadow and the first trembling stars that were hurrying across the blue sky to meet him, crying:—
“Hurry up, hurry up; it is too early for us yet!”
When he came back he said none of them were more ready than the bottom of Misty’s heart, and that the Dewdrop King and the Wind Messenger said it was her place there.
So away to the ground came Sleep and softly whispered to a nice hugh dew, which first human dressmaker lady made Sister her night-dress, and borrowed her Old Polish tale, she was to put on over it, then she twisted the hair over her head into a black wooly ring, that grew deeper black the more you looked at it.