"Perhaps," said the Dream, "the love slips back through the violet rents, and is just as sweet to some one on the other side of the curtain, as the fragrance is to you on this side."
"Wouldn't it be funny," she said, caressing the flowers, "if this wonderful fragrance and color were just the love of somebody on the other side, translated into violet language and slipping through the rents in the curtain to me, and if my love slips back to them, translated the same way?"
The Dream smiled. "We are full of whimsies," he said, "aren't we? Well, whimsies or not, we'll keep them sweet, anyway. Let us go on down to the bridge and make friends with that big blossoming elderberry bush. It looks like more rents in the curtain."
The bush was at the farther end of the bridge, and just as they were about to step off of the boards onto the ground, a little whiff of wind tossed the end of Marjorie's scarf and flicked it against the rail of the bridge. Marjorie caught at it, it stuck and then came away bringing a splinter and a long end of loose yarn. Marjorie captured the loosened stitches between her thumb and finger. "Now look at that!" she said. "It will ravel all the way up the scarf if I don't fix it right away. We'll sit down under the elder bush and I'll catch the stitches and make it as good as new."
