But where were the currant-bushes?
Ah! there they were,--a row of stout green bushes, forming a hedge at the bottom of the garden.
Hilda fell busily to work, filling her basket with the fine, ruddy clusters.

"How beautiful they are!" she thought, holding up a bunch so that the sunlight shone through it.

"And these pale, pinky golden ones, which show all the delicate veins inside.

Really, I _must_ eat this fat bunch; they are like fairy grapes! The butler fay comes and picks a cluster every evening, and carries it on a lily-leaf platter to the queen as she sits supping on honey-cakes and dew under the damask rose-bush." While fingers and fancy were thus busily employed, Hilda was startled by the sound of a voice which seemed to come from beyond the currant-bushes, very near her.

She stood quite still and listened.
"A-g, ag," said the voice; "g-l-o-m, glom,--agglom; e-r er,--agglomer; a-t-e, ate,--agglomerate." There was a pause, and then it began again: "A-g, ag; g-l-o-m, glom," etc.
Hilda's curiosity was now thoroughly aroused; and laying down her basket, she cautiously parted the leaves and peeped through.