"Where do the beautiful flowers dance?" asked little Ida. "Yes," said the student, "little daisies and lilies of the valley." "When it grows dark, and everybody is asleep, they jump about quite merrily. "Yes indeed, they can," replied the student. "But flowers cannot dance?" cried little Ida. "The flowers were at a ball last night, and therefore, it is no wonder they hang their heads." "Don't you know what is the matter with them?" said the student. "Why do the flowers look so faded to-day?" she asked again, and pointed to her nosegay, which was quite withered. What do they do that for," she asked, of the student who sat on the sofa she liked him very much, he could tell the most amusing stories, and cut out the prettiest pictures hearts, and ladies dancing, castles with doors that opened, as well as flowers he was a delightful student. "My poor flowers are quite dead," said little Ida, "they were so pretty yesterday evening, and now all the leaves are hanging down quite withered.
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