Spring had now restored their verdure to hill and dale; the Gnome had permitted the subterranean fire under his turnip field to go out, and the turnips themselves, which, despite the winter, had been going on, now began to come forth. Every day did Emma pull up a few of these turnips, and as if in sport, give them such forms as the caprice of the moment seemed to suggest; but this apparent sport had in reality a very serious object. One day she turned a little turnip into a bee, which she forthwith sent to bring her some account of her lover. “Fly, dear little bee,” said she, “to Prince Ratibor, and buz gently into his ear that Emma still lives for him, but in captivity with the Gnome Prince, whose dwelling is in the mountains. Forget not one word of this greeting, and bring back tidings of my lover.” The bee at once flew from the finger of its mistress on its mission; but scarcely was it on the wing, ere a hungry swallow pounced upon it, and in an instant swallowed up, to the great vexation of the lady, the messenger of love and all its despatches. Forthwith, by virtue of her wondrous wand, Emma created a grasshopper, whom she charged with a similar message. “Little grasshopper,” said she, “hop over the mountains to Prince Ratibor, and chirp in his ear that his faithful Emma waits with impatience for his strong arm to free her from her bonds.” The grasshopper hopped
