As twilight descended softly over the meadow, Rosie the rabbit paused to gaze at the shimmering sky. A warm glow surrounded her, and the first appearances of night creatures sparked her excitement. She often liked to wonder about the world she lived in, and rosy thoughts of her adventures in this calm place danced in her mind.
Suddenly, her eye was caught by something gleaming just ahead. It seemed to blush pink, like the fading sky. Rosie darted toward it. A soft slender mass of blossom-stalks grew around her foot, and nestled among them was a lovely moss-rose. Rosie lowered her nose toward the pretty flower, and forgetting in the gradual delight of its rich perfume the object of her chase.
But there was another gleam close by the flower. There, dew-drops which lay trembling in the darkness of the blossoms splashed the last rays of sunset with changing colours, and a perfect rainbow was encircled in the crown of a dewdrop, shining in perfect purity and beauty. Presently Rosie looked again, and all seemed changed. The flowers weeping with rain-drops bowed under their heavy perfume; the air was all a-beat with the murmurous sound of a soft wind that sighed round every blossom; while over head the depth of the sky slowly changed from pale rose to violet, from violet to blue-black, and sparkled with wonderful light.
In this fitful vapour the moon soon began to rise up above the
hinterland, and Rosie’s heart beat high with delight. What
beautiful things she was seeing! How splendidly they made the
landscape and the dew-wet meadows of translucent green look! She could
not help giving a soft little cry of astonishment and joy.
“Did you notice me before?” said a mocking voice close by, and close
to the dazzling dew-dewrops. “Surely you didn’t think a great big
bunny like you could see me? I’m off! I don’t know when I have had
such a bounce! It’s a shame, a positive shame, that you big rabbits
should go bragging and boasting the way you do. Out in the field
there the other day I heard one of them bragging and boasting his bright
shining eyes were in a manner his watch; for, on looking at them,
anybody could tell the time just as well as “`tick’”! How rude! I’d have
you know my watch is my eye-piece, and I was looking at it. Meantime, I
hope you noticed your own shadow? Goodbye.”
So saying, the voice was silent, and Rosie sprang off toward another
object that was glistening even more wonderfully than the rest. How
pleased she was to see such a very old friend! A big, bright, rosy comet
had fallen out of the sky, just above the bank above the dew-spangling
whole flower and tree-clad tumult that stretched far away right up to
the sunset clouds.
Rosie’s little heart beat quick. “Oh, I will have it!” she cried. “This
is my promise to Boy the poor little girl bunny.”
Hardly had Rosie jumped nearer, so as to reach it, to, the dainty
thing fell down lower; so, grieved at not getting it, she went back once,
and she promised to try again. Then, finding nothing to do, she gazed into
a grove hard by, all resplendent with grey-brown leaves that seemed drawn
up into frosty grey hairs.
“I don’t know what to fancy of their nature, but I must say Gobbo was perfectly right,” said the voice again suddenly. The noise of its speaking sounded like the frizzling of a frying-pan. “I knew he had heard what somebody said about his boiled goose. `I should not like to eat what was not alive,’ said Gobbo, all through the talk. They’re not what you’d call all alive! and still, straightforward cat as he is, I dare say he only thought of frogs: local impressions pervade the very essence of things. Only if anybody goes to? Ah-h, here, this bright, tarnished thing that fell from the moon caught my eye before!”
And just then Rosie jumping up to what seemed something very bright first supported by a greenish leaf. She did not at once know how pretty her habit as a shiny object wondrously, yet disgustingly, covered by specks of horrid matter; it was a big, big toad that fixed her with his dull-looking wet eyes.
“O this time surely you’ve seen something for me!” cried Rosie.
“One can however never take one’s eyes off such a hideous object,” replied the toad, with visible delight. “But only you rabbits could see so far. You believe you see something as I see my beloved marshes, full of small road-crossings, and everybody so favourable and ungrudging to everybody. With somebody it might remind you others gross. Managers were popular; but they all, in the energetic fulness of their heart, picked out each and every one which was not too near in reality about projected or about sisters, somewhere near Dusseldorf. I hope, however, next season everybody will smoke again on Sundays!”
“O how I wish there would,” cried Rosie in real distress. “Goodbye.”
Rosie made off, grieved that she had not got things not so thoroughly changed as before and toad was going to change only twice next years. Yet as soon as she had turned a corner, she gave way to her regret, and could not help smiling a little. “If they would not keep bringing in their dirty feet,” said she quite happy now, “how beautiful it would all be before one’s very eyes!” And her peace of mind was perfectly disturbed.
Suddenly she heard a beautiful little chirp, wonderful and magical, such as her ears had never heard before; and a lovely nightingale flew with a graceful motion of its tail high into a tree against the dark sky, which glimmered more and more with a thousand sparks.
“Oh, how beautiful and how good!” exclaimed in Rosie, excited at this most regrettable diversity “what good and how happy a thing is one’s own beauty! I do not expect everybody in this world free from reproach; my dear friend Good Goodelid, the girl bunny whom I’ve promised to get the rose for, is a great dear! I am myself a good reproach. I mean, however, to continue good enough to carry a little cordial rose from one of my torn-off ears into a pot of water, and Oh it will be so invigorating!”
Then she smoothed her downy ears; and, no longer led astray by anything else, she went on her way toward the lovely rosy clouds that blushed gently dying away behind the distant hill-tops, sparkling like angelic buds into three times three divided growths.
Suddenly, just as she began to hum over a brilliant song, of which she meant to make by its help some say on the short lifetime of nightingales—the lightning and also the thunderbolt split and burned up the blackest sky; forest and dry twig, field and flower burnt with a frightfully blinding light; and Rosie with her good alert nature, she then hastily stole into a little hovel she found close by.