And the sea rocks and dimples around it--blue as the heavens, green as the isle itself, and foam horses toss their white manes, and the great clean winds blow over it, and the sun shines down on it like your eyes, _acushla_--" "And are you a king of Ireland, Larry darlin' ?" Thus Lakla-- But enough! At last we turned to go--and around the corner of the path I caught another glimpse of what I have called the lake of jewels.

I pointed to it.
"Those are lovely flowers, Lakla," I said.

"I have never seen anything like them in the place from whence we come." She followed my pointing finger--laughed.
"Come," she said, "let me show you them." She ran down an intersecting way, we following; came out of it upon a little ledge close to the brink, three feet or more I suppose about it.

The Golden Girl's voice rang out in a high-pitched, tremulous, throbbing call.
The lake of jewels stirred as though a breeze had passed over it; stirred, shook, and then began to move swiftly, a shimmering torrent of shining flowers down upon us! She called again, the movement became more rapid; the gem blooms streamed closer--closer, wavering, shifting, winding--at our very feet.

Above them hovered a little radiant mist.