"Oh," breathed Eepersip, "the little sister. I want her, I want her!" Entranced, Eepersip watched, sitting in a crotch just outside the window—watched her as she lay there, tracing with her finger the curving patterns on her wall-paper; as she played her hands in the moonlight and the waving shadows on her wall. And after a while the humming died away, the finger ceased to stroke the wall, her eyes closed, and in a moment she was gently sleeping. Before Eepersip went down she left a fair sprig of apple-blossoms on Fleuriss's bed—apple-blossoms that, with difficulty, she had brought up the tree. When she went back to her lilac-bush she imagined Fleuriss's surprise, when she should wake, to see them on her bed; imagined Fleuriss following her, all fascinated by butterflies and sweet flowers; imagined her little sister climbing mountains with her, eating berries and roots, swimming and diving and dancing; and—Her thoughts began to grow more and more fantastic —the smell of lilacs intoxicated her—and she went to sleep.
***
In the morning she climbed the tree again. Fleuriss was just waking. Her eyes were turned
