On his way, a flower nursery caught his attention. There, nestled in a corner, was a young girl muttering in a low voice.

She was counting, and her counting seemed askew, for Melon observed a leap from twenty straight to fifty as he drew near.

A bemused smile graced his lips, and he inquired, “Engrossed in counting, are you?"

Unperturbed by his presence, the girl's gaze remained fixed downward.

Craning his neck, Melon saw the girl his age in a pink bubble skirt on the grass.