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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Last Words, by Juliana Horatia Ewing
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Last Words
+       A Final Collection of Stories
+
+Author: Juliana Horatia Ewing
+
+Illustrator: H. D. Murphy
+
+Release Date: June 6, 2008 [EBook #25710]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LAST WORDS ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Sankar Viswanathan, Juliet Sutherland, and the
+Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+           [Illustration: (signed) Juliana Horatia Ewing.]
+
+
+                             LAST WORDS.
+
+                    A Final Collection of Stories.
+
+
+
+
+                                  BY
+
+                        JULIANA HORATIA EWING,
+
+    AUTHOR OF "JAN OF THE WINDMILL," "SIX TO SIXTEEN," "A GREAT
+    EMERGENCY," "WE AND THE WORLD," "JACKANAPES, AND OTHER TALES,"
+    "MELCHIOR'S DREAM, BROTHERS OF PITY, AND OTHER TALES," "LOB
+    LIE-BY-THE-FIRE, THE BROWNIES, AND OTHER TALES," "MRS.
+    OVERTHEWAY's REMEMBRANCES," "A FLAT IRON FOR A FARTHING."
+
+
+                _WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY H. D. MURPHY._
+
+
+
+
+
+                               BOSTON:
+
+                          ROBERTS BROTHERS.
+
+                                1891.
+
+
+
+
+                          _Copyright, 1891_,
+
+                         BY ROBERTS BROTHERS.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+PREFACE.
+
+
+"Mary's Meadow" first appeared in the numbers of _Aunt Judy's
+Magazine_ from November 1883, to March 1884. It was the last serial
+story which Mrs. EWING wrote, and I believe the subject of it arose
+from the fact that in 1883, after having spent several years in moving
+from place to place, she went to live at Villa Ponente, Taunton, where
+she had a settled home with a garden, and was able to revert to the
+practical cultivation of flowers, which had been one of the favorite
+pursuits of her girlhood.
+
+The Game of the Earthly Paradise was received with great delight by
+the readers of the story; one family of children adopted the word
+"Mary-meadowing" to describe the work which they did towards
+beautifying hedges and bare places; and my sister received many
+letters of enquiry about the various plants mentioned in her tale.
+These she answered in the _Correspondence_ columns of the Magazine,
+and in July 1884, it was suggested that a "Parkinson Society" should
+be formed, whose objects were "to search out and cultivate old garden
+flowers which have become scarce; to exchange seeds and plants; to
+plant waste places with hardy flowers; to circulate books on gardening
+amongst the Members;" and further, "to try to prevent the
+extermination of rare wild flowers, as well as of garden treasures."
+
+Reports of the Society, with correspondence on the exchanges of plants
+and books, and quaint local names of flowers, were given in the
+Magazine until it was brought to a close after Mrs. EWING'S death: but
+I am glad to say that the Society itself is still in existence, and
+any one who wishes to procure a copy of its Rules can do so by sending
+a stamped envelope to the Secretary, _Miss Alice Sargant, 7 Belsize
+Grove, N. W._ Miss SARGANT was the originator of the scheme, so its
+management remains in the best possible hands, and Professor OLIVER,
+of Kew Gardens, has consented to become President in Mrs. EWING'S
+place. She owed to him her first introduction to _Paradisi in sole
+Paradisus terrestris_, as well as many other kind acts of help on
+flower subjects.
+
+HORATIA K. F. GATTY.
+
+_May, 1886._
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+
+MARY'S MEADOW,
+
+LETTERS FROM A LITTLE GARDEN,
+
+SNAP-DRAGONS,
+
+DANDELION CLOCKS,
+
+THE BLIND MAN AND THE TALKING DOG,
+
+SO-SO,
+
+THE TRINITY FLOWER,
+
+THE KYRKEGRIM TURNED PREACHER,
+
+LADDERS TO HEAVEN,
+
+SUNFLOWERS AND A RUSHLIGHT,
+
+TINY'S TRICKS AND TOBY'S TRICKS,
+
+THE OWL IN THE IVY BUSH,
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+      How fresh, O Lord, how sweet and clean
+    Are Thy returns! ev'n as the flowers in spring;
+      To which, besides their own demean,
+    The late-past frosts tributes of pleasure bring.
+            Grief melts away
+            Like snow in May,
+      As if there were no such cold thing.
+
+      Who would have thought my shrivel'd heart
+    Could have recover'd greenness? It was gone
+      Quite under ground; as flowers depart
+    To see their mother-root, when they have blown;
+            Where they together
+            All the hard weather,
+      Dead to the world, keep house unknown.
+
+           *       *       *       *       *
+
+      O that I once past changing were,
+    Fast in Thy Paradise, where no flower can wither!
+      Many a spring I shoot up fair,
+    Offering at Heaven, growing and groaning thither;
+            Nor doth my flower
+            Want a spring shower,
+      My sins and I joining together.
+
+           *       *       *       *       *
+
+      These are Thy wonders, Lord of love,
+    To make us see we are but flowers that glide:
+      Which when we once can find and prove,
+    Thou hast a garden for us, where to bide.
+            Who would be more,
+            Swelling through store,
+      Forfeit their Paradise by their pride.
+
+--GEORGE HERBERT
+
+
+
+
+MARY'S MEADOW.
+
+CHAPTER I.
+
+
+Mother is always trying to make us love our neighbors as ourselves.
+
+She does so despise us for greediness, or grudging, or snatching, or
+not sharing what we have got, or taking the best and leaving the rest,
+or helping ourselves first, or pushing forward, or praising Number
+One, or being Dogs in the Manger, or anything selfish. And we cannot
+bear her to despise us!
+
+We despise being selfish, too; but very often we forget. Besides, it
+is sometimes rather difficult to love your neighbor as yourself when
+you want a thing very much; and Arthur says he believes it is
+particularly difficult if it is your next-door-neighbor, and that that
+is why Father and the Old Squire quarrelled about the footpath through
+Mary's Meadow.
+
+The Old Squire is not really his name, but that is what people call
+him. He is very rich. His place comes next to ours, and it is much
+bigger, and he has quantities of fields, and Father has only got a
+few; but there are two fields beyond Mary's Meadow which belong to
+Father, though the Old Squire wanted to buy them. Father would not
+sell them, and he says he has a right of way through Mary's Meadow to
+go to his fields, but the Old Squire says he has nothing of the kind,
+and that is what they quarrelled about.
+
+Arthur says if you quarrel, and are too grown-up to punch each other's
+heads, you go to law; and if going to law doesn't make it up, you
+appeal. They went to law, I know, for Mother cried about it; and I
+suppose it did not make it up, for the Old Squire appealed.
+
+After that he used to ride about all day on his grey horse, with
+Saxon, his yellow bull-dog, following him, to see that we did not
+trespass on Mary's Meadow. I think he thought that if we children were
+there, Saxon would frighten us, for I do not suppose he knew that we
+knew him. But Saxon used often to come with the Old Squire's Scotch
+Gardener to see our gardener, and when they were looking at the wall
+fruit, Saxon used to come snuffing after us.
+
+He is the nicest dog I know. He looks very savage, but he is only very
+funny. His lower jaw sticks out, which makes him grin, and some people
+think he is gnashing his teeth with rage. We think it looks as if he
+were laughing--like Mother Hubbard's dog, when she brought home his
+coffin, and he wasn't dead--but it really is only the shape of his
+jaw. I loved Saxon the first day I saw him, and he likes me, and
+licks my face. But what he likes best of all are Bath Oliver Biscuits.
+
+One day the Scotch Gardener saw me feeding him, and he pulled his red
+beard, and said "Ye do weel to mak hay while the sun shines, Saxon, my
+man. There's sma' sight o' young leddies and sweet cakes at hame for
+ye!" And Saxon grinned, and wagged his tail, and the Scotch Gardener
+touched his hat to me, and took him away.
+
+The Old Squire's Weeding Woman is our nursery-maid's aunt. She is not
+very old, but she looks so, because she has lost her teeth, and is
+bent nearly double. She wears a large hood, and carries a big basket,
+which she puts down outside the nursery door when she comes to tea
+with Bessy. If it is a fine afternoon, and we are gardening, she lets
+us borrow the basket, and then we play at being weeding women in each
+other's gardens.
+
+She tells Bessy about the Old Squire. She says--"He do be a real old
+skinflint, the Old Zquire a be!" But she thinks it--"zim as if 'twas
+having ne'er a wife nor child for to keep the natur in 'un, so his
+heart do zim to shrivel, like they walnuts Butler tells us of as a
+zets down for desart. The Old Zquire he mostly eats ne'er a one now's
+teeth be so bad. But a counts them every night when's desart's done.
+And a keeps 'em till the karnels be mowldy, and a keeps 'em till they
+be dry, and a keeps 'em till they be dust; and when the karnels is
+dust, a cracks aal the lot of 'em when desart's done, zo's no one
+mayn't have no good of they walnuts, since they be no good to he."
+
+Arthur can imitate the Weeding Woman exactly, and he can imitate the
+Scotch Gardener, too. Chris (that is Christopher, our youngest
+brother), is very fond of "The Zquire and the Walnuts." He gets nuts,
+or anything, like shells or bits of flower-pots, that will break, and
+something to hit with, and when Arthur comes to "_The karnels is
+dust_," Chris smashes everything before him, shouting, "_A cracks aal
+the lot of 'em_" and then he throws the bits all over the place, with
+"_They be no good to he_."
+
+Father laughed very much when he heard Arthur do the Weeding Woman,
+and Mother could not help laughing, too; but she did not like it,
+because she does not like us to repeat servants' gossip.
+
+The Weeding Woman is a great gossip. She gossips all the time she is
+having her tea, and it is generally about the Old Squire. She used to
+tell Bessy that his flowers bloomed themselves to death, and the fruit
+rotted on the walls, because he would let nothing be picked, and gave
+nothing away, except now and then a grand present of fruit to Lady
+Catherine, for which the old lady returned no thanks, but only a rude
+message to say that his peaches were over-ripe, and he had better have
+sent the grapes to the Infirmary. Adela asked--"Why is the Old Squire
+so kind to Lady Catherine?" and Father said--"Because we are so fond
+of Lords and Ladies in this part of the country." I thought he meant
+the lords and ladies in the hedges, for we are very fond of them. But
+he didn't. He meant real lords and ladies.
+
+There are splendid lords and ladies in the hedges of Mary's Meadow. I
+never can make up my mind when I like them best. In April and May,
+when they have smooth plum-colored coats and pale green cowls, and
+push up out of last year's dry leaves, or in August and September,
+when their hoods have fallen away, and their red berries shine through
+the dusty grass and nettles that have been growing up round them all
+the summer out of the ditch.
+
+Flowers were one reason for our wanting to go to Mary's Meadow.
+Another reason was the nightingale. There was one that used always to
+sing there, and Mother had made us a story about it.
+
+We are very fond of fairy books, and one of our greatest favorites is
+Bechstein's "As Pretty as Seven." It has very nice pictures, and we
+particularly like "The Man in the Moon, and How He Came There;" but
+the story doesn't end well, for he came there by gathering sticks on
+Sunday, and then scoffing about it, and he has been there ever since.
+But Mother made us a new fairy tale about the nightingale in Mary's
+Meadow being the naughty woodcutter's only child, who was turned into
+a little brown bird that lives on in the woods, and sits on a tree on
+summer nights, and sings to its father up in the moon.
+
+But after our Father and the Old Squire went to law, Mother told us we
+must be content with hearing the nightingale from a distance. We did
+not really know about the lawsuit then, we only understood that the
+Old Squire was rather crosser than usual; and we rather resented being
+warned not to go into Mary's Meadow, especially as Father kept saying
+we had a perfect right so to do. I thought that Mother was probably
+afraid of Saxon being set at us, and of course I had no fears about
+him. Indeed, I used to wish that it could happen that the Old Squire,
+riding after me as full of fury as King Padella in the "Rose and the
+Ring," might set Saxon on me, as the lions were let loose to eat the
+Princess Rosalba. "Instead of devouring her with their great teeth, it
+was with kisses they gobbled her up. They licked her pretty feet, they
+nuzzled their noses in her lap," and she put her arms "round their
+tawny necks and kissed them." Saxon gobbles us with kisses, and
+nuzzles his nose, and we put our arms round his tawny neck. What a
+surprise it would be to the Old Squire to see him! And then I wondered
+if my feet were as pretty as Rosalba's, and I thought they were, and I
+wondered if Saxon would lick them, supposing that by any possibility
+it could ever happen that I should be barefoot in Mary's Meadow at
+the mercy of the Old Squire and his bull-dog.
+
+One does not, as a rule, begin to go to bed by letting down one's
+hair, and taking off one's shoes and stockings. But one night I was
+silly enough to do this, just to see if I looked (in the mirror) at
+all like the picture of Rosalba in the "Rose and the Ring." I was
+trying to see my feet as well as my hair, when I heard Arthur jumping
+the three steps in the middle of the passage between his room and
+mine. I had only just time to spring into the window seat, and tuck my
+feet under me, when he gave a hasty knock, and bounced in with his
+telescope in his hand.
+
+"Oh, Mary," he cried, "I want you to see the Old Squire, with a
+great-coat over his evening clothes, and a squosh hat, marching up and
+down Mary's Meadow."
+
+And he pulled up my blind, and threw open the window, and arranged the
+telescope for me.
+
+It was a glorious night. The moon was rising round and large out of
+the mist, and dark against its brightness I could see the figure of
+the Old Squire pacing the pathway over Mary's Meadow.
+
+Saxon was not there; but on a slender branch of a tree in the hedgerow
+sat the nightingale, singing to comfort the poor, lonely old Man in
+the Moon.
+
+
+CHAPTER II.
+
+
+Lady Catherine is Mother's aunt by marriage, and Mother is one of the
+few people she is not rude to.
+
+She is very rude, and yet she is very kind, especially to the poor.
+But she does kind things so rudely, that people now and then wish that
+she would mind her own business instead. Father says so, though Mother
+would say that that is gossip. But I think sometimes that Mother is
+thinking of Aunt Catherine when she tells us that in kindness it is
+not enough to be good to others, one should also learn to be gracious.
+
+Mother thought she was very rude to _her_ once, when she said, quite
+out loud, that Father is very ill-tempered, and that, if Mother had
+not the temper of an angel, the house could never hold together.
+Mother was very angry, but Father did not mind. He says our house will
+hold together much longer than most houses, because he swore at the
+workmen, and went to law with the builder for using dirt instead of
+mortar, so the builder had to pull down what was done wrong, and do it
+right; and Father says he knows he has a bad temper, but he does not
+mean to pull the house over our heads at present, unless he has to get
+bricks out to heave at Lady Catherine if she becomes quite unbearable.
+
+We do not like dear Father to be called bad-tempered. He comes home
+cross sometimes, and then we have to be very quiet, and keep out of
+the way; and sometimes he goes out rather cross, but not always. It
+was what Chris said about that that pleased Lady Catherine so much.
+
+It was one day when Father came home cross, and was very much vexed to
+find us playing about the house. Arthur had got a new adventure book,
+and he had been reading to us about the West Coast of Africa, and
+niggers, and tom-toms, and "going Fantee;" and James gave him a lot of
+old corks out of the pantry, and let him burn them in a candle. It
+rained, and we could not go out; so we all blacked our faces with
+burnt cork, and played at the West Coast in one of the back passages,
+and at James being the captain of a slave ship; because he tried to
+catch us when we beat the tom-toms too near him when he was cleaning
+the plate, to make him give us rouge and whitening to tattoo with.
+
+Dear Father came home rather earlier than we expected, and rather
+cross. Chris did not hear the front door, because his ears were
+pinched up with tying curtain rings on to them, and just at that
+minute he shouted, "I go Fantee!" and tore his pinafore right up the
+middle, and burst into the front hall with it hanging in two pieces by
+the armholes, his eyes shut, and a good grab of James's rouge powder
+smudged on his nose, yelling and playing the tom-tom on what is left
+of Arthur's drum.
+
+Father was very angry indeed, and Chris was sent to bed, and not
+allowed to go down to dessert; and Lady Catherine was dining at our
+house, so he missed her.
+
+Next time she called, and saw Chris, she asked him why he had not been
+at dessert that night. Mother looked at Chris, and said "Why was it
+Chris? Tell Aunt Catherine." Mother thought he would say "Because I
+tore my pinafore, and made a noise in the front hall." But he smiled,
+the grave way Chris does, and said, "Because Father came home cross."
+And Lady Catherine was pleased, but Mother was vexed.
+
+I am quite sure Chris meant no harm, but he does say very funny
+things. Perhaps it is because his head is rather large for his body,
+with some water having got into his brain when he was very little, so
+that we have to take great care of him. And though he does say very
+odd things, very slowly, I do not think any one of us tries harder to
+be good.
+
+I remember once Mother had been trying to make us forgive each other's
+trespasses, and Arthur would say that you cannot _make_ yourself feel
+kindly to them that trespass against you; and Mother said if you make
+yourself do right, then at last you get to feel right; and it was very
+soon after this that Harry and Christopher quarrelled, and would not
+forgive each other's trespasses in the least, in spite of all that I
+could do to try and make peace between them.
+
+Chris went off in the sulks, but after a long time I came upon him in
+the toy-cupboard, looking rather pale and very large-headed, and
+winding up his new American top, and talking to himself.
+
+When he talks to himself he mutters, so I could only just hear what he
+was saying, and he said it over and over again:
+
+"_Dos first and feels afterwards._"
+
+"What are you doing, Chris?" I asked.
+
+"I'm getting ready my new top to give to Harry. _Dos first and feels
+afterwards._"
+
+"Well," I said, "Christopher, you _are_ a good boy."
+
+"I should like to punch his head," said Chris--and he said it in just
+the same sing-song tone--"but I'm getting the top ready. _Dos first
+and feels afterwards._"
+
+And he went on winding and muttering.
+
+Afterwards he told me that the "feels" came sooner than he expected.
+Harry wouldn't take his top, and they made up their quarrel.
+
+Christopher is very simple, but sometimes we think he is also a
+little sly. He can make very wily excuses about things he does not
+like.
+
+He does not like Nurse to hold back his head and wash his face; and at
+last one day she let him go downstairs with a dirty face, and then
+complained to Mother. So Mother asked Chris why he was so naughty
+about having his face washed, and he said, quite gravely, "I do think
+it would be _such pity_ if the water got into my head again by
+accident." Mother did not know he had ever heard about it, but she
+said, "Oh, Chris! Chris! that's one of your excuses." And he said,
+"It's not my _'scusis_. She lets a good deal get in--at my ears--and
+lather too."
+
+But, with all his whimsical ways, Lady Catherine is devoted to
+Christopher. She likes him far better than any one of us, and he is
+very fond of her; and they say quite rude things to each other all
+along. And Father says it is very lucky, for if she had not been so
+fond of Chris, and so ready to take him too, Mother would never have
+been persuaded to leave us when Aunt Catherine took them to the South
+of France.
+
+Mother had been very unwell for a long time. She has so many worries,
+and Dr. Solomon said she ought to avoid worry, and Aunt Catherine said
+worries were killing her, and Father said "Pshaw!" and Aunt Catherine
+said "Care killed the cat," and that a cat has nine lives, and a woman
+has only one; and then Mother got worse, and Aunt Catherine wanted to
+take her abroad, and she wouldn't go; and then Christopher was ill,
+and Aunt Catherine said she would take him too, if only Mother would
+go with her; and Dr. Solomon said it might be the turning-point of his
+health, and Father said, "the turning-point which way?" but he thanked
+Lady Catherine, and they didn't quarrel; and so Mother yielded, and it
+was settled that they should go.
+
+Before they went, Mother spoke to me, and told me I must be a Little
+Mother to the others whilst she was away. She hoped we should all try
+to please Father, and to be unselfish with each other; but she
+expected me to try far harder than the others, and never to think of
+myself at all, so that I might fill her place whilst she was away. So
+I promised to try, and I did.
+
+We missed Christopher sadly. And Saxon missed him. The first time
+Saxon came to see us after Mother and Chris went away, we told him all
+about it, and he looked very sorry. Then we said that he should be our
+brother in Christopher's stead, whilst Chris was away; and he looked
+very much pleased, and wagged his tail, and licked our faces all
+round. So we told him to come and see us very often.
+
+He did not, but we do not think it was his fault. He is chained up so
+much.
+
+One day Arthur and I were walking down the road outside the Old
+Squire's stables, and Saxon smelt us, and we could hear him run and
+rattle his chain, and he gave deep, soft barks.
+
+Arthur laughed. He said, "Do you hear Saxon, Mary? Now I dare say the
+Old Squire thinks he smells tramps and wants to bite them. He doesn't
+know that Saxon smells his new sister and brother, and wishes he could
+go out walking with them in Mary's Meadow."
+
+
+CHAPTER III.
+
+
+Nothing comforted us so much whilst Mother and Chris were away as
+being allowed to play in the library.
+
+We were not usually allowed to be there so often, but when we asked
+Father he gave us leave to amuse ourselves there at the time when
+Mother would have had us with her, provided that we did not bother him
+or hurt the books. We did not hurt the books, and in the end we were
+allowed to go there as much as we liked.
+
+We have plenty of books of our own, and we have new ones very often:
+on birthdays and at Christmas. Sometimes they are interesting, and
+sometimes they are disappointing. Most of them have pretty pictures.
+It was because we had been rather unlucky for some time, and had had
+disappointing ones on our birthdays, that Arthur said to me, "Look
+here, Mary, I'm not going to read any books now but grown-up ones,
+unless it is an Adventure Book. I'm sick of books for young people,
+there's so much _stuff_ in them."
+
+We call it _stuff_ when there seems to be going to be a story and it
+comes to nothing but talk; and we call it _stuff_ when there is a very
+interesting picture, and you read to see what it is about, and the
+reading does not tell you, or tells you wrong.
+
+Both Arthur and Christopher had had disappointments in their books on
+their birthdays.
+
+Arthur jumped at his book at first, because there were Japanese
+pictures in it, and Uncle Charley had just been staying with us, and
+had brought beautiful Japanese pictures with him, and had told us
+Japanese fairy tales, and they were as good as Bechstein. So Arthur
+was full of Japan.
+
+The most beautiful picture of all was of a stork, high up in a tall,
+tall pine tree, and the branches of the pine tree, and the cones, and
+the pine needles were most beautifully drawn; and there was a nest
+with young storks in it, and behind the stork and the nest and the
+tall pine the sun was blazing with all his rays. And Uncle Charley
+told us the story to it, and it was called "the Nest of the Stork."
+
+So when Arthur saw a stork standing among pine needles in his new
+book he shouted with delight, though the pine needles were rather
+badly done, with thick strokes. But presently he said, "It's not
+nearly so good a stork as Uncle Charley's. And where's the stem of the
+pine? It looks as if the stork were on the ground and on the top of
+the pine tree, too, and there's no nest. And there's no sun. And, oh!
+Mary, what do you think is written under it? '_Crane and
+Water-reeds_.' Well, I do call that a sell!"
+
+Christopher's disappointment was quite as bad. Mother gave him a book
+with very nice pictures, particularly of beasts. The chief reason she
+got it for him was that there was such a very good picture of a toad,
+and Chris is so fond of toads. For months he made friends with one in
+the garden. It used to crawl away from him, and he used to creep after
+it, talking to it, and then it used to half begin to crawl up the
+garden wall, and stand so, on its hind legs, and let Chris rub its
+wrinkled back. The toad in the picture was exactly like Christopher's
+toad, and he ran about the house with the book in his arms begging us
+to read him the story about Dear Toady.
+
+We were all busy but Arthur, and he said, "I want to go on with my
+water-wheel." But Mother said, "Don't be selfish, Arthur." And he
+said, "I forgot. All right, Chris; bring me the book." So they went
+and sat in the conservatory, not to disturb anyone. But very soon they
+came back, Chris crying, and saying, "It couldn't be the right one,
+Arthur;" and Arthur frowning, and saying, "It _is_ the right story;
+but it's _stuff_. I'll tell you what that book's good for, Chris. To
+paint the pictures. And you've got a new paint-box." So Mother said,
+"What's the matter?" And Arthur said, "Chris thinks I haven't read him
+the right story to his Toad Picture. But I have, and what do you think
+it's about? It's about the silliest little girl you can imagine--a
+regular mawk of a girl--_and a frog_. Not a toad, but a F. R. O. G.
+frog! A regular hop, skip, jumping frog!"
+
+Arthur hopped round the room, but Chris cried bitterly. So Arthur ran
+up to him, and kissed him, and said, "Don't cry, old chap. I'll tell
+you what I'll do. You get Mary to cut out a lot of the leaves of your
+book that have no pictures, and that will make it like a real
+scrap-book; and then I'll give you a lot of my scraps and pictures to
+paste over what's left of the stories, and you'll have such a
+painting-book as you never had in all your life before."
+
+So we did. And Arthur was very good, for he gave Chris pictures that I
+know he prized, because Chris liked them. But the very first picture
+he gave him was the "Crane and Water-reeds."
+
+I thought it so good of Arthur to be so nice with Chris that I wished
+I could have helped him over his water-wheel. He had put Japan out of
+his head since the disappointment, and spent all his play-time in
+making mills and machinery. He did grind some corn into flour once,
+but it was not at all white. He said that was because the bran was
+left in. But it was not only bran in Arthur's flour. There was a good
+deal of sand too, from his millstones being made of sandstone, which
+he thought would not matter. But it grinds off.
+
+Down in the valley, below Mary's Meadow, runs the Ladybrook, which
+turns the old water-wheel of Mary's Mill. It is a very picturesque old
+mill, and Mother has made beautiful sketches of it. She caught the
+last cold she got before going abroad with sketching it--the day we
+had a most delightful picnic there, and went about in the punt. And
+from that afternoon Arthur made up his mind that his next mill should
+be a water mill.
+
+The reason I am no good at helping Arthur about his mills is that I am
+stupid about machinery; and I was so vexed not to help him, that when
+I saw a book in the library which I thought would do so, I did not
+stop to take it out, for it was in four very large volumes, but ran
+off at once to tell Arthur.
+
+He said, "What is the matter, Mary?"
+
+I said, "Oh, Arthur! I've found a book that will tell you all about
+mills; and it is the nicest smelling book in the Library."
+
+"The nicest _smelling_? What's that got to do with mills?"
+
+"Nothing, of course. But it's bound in russia, and I am so fond of the
+smell of russia. But that's nothing. It's a Miller's Dictionary, and
+it is in four huge volumes, 'with plates.' I should think you could
+look out all about every kind of mill there ever was a miller to."
+
+"If the plates give sections and diagrams"--Arthur began, but I did
+not hear the rest, for he started off for the library at once, and I
+ran after him.
+
+But when we got Miller's Dictionary on the floor, how he did tease me!
+For there was nothing about mills or millers in it. It was a
+Gardener's and Botanist's Dictionary, by Philip Miller; and the plates
+were plates of flowers, very truly drawn, like the pine tree in Uncle
+Charley's Jap. picture. There were some sections too, but they were
+sections of greenhouses, not of any kinds of mills or machinery.
+
+The odd thing was that it turned out a kind of help to Arthur after
+all. For we got so much interested in it that it roused us up about
+our gardens. We are all very fond of flowers, I most of all. And at
+last Arthur said he thought that miniature mills were really rather
+humbugging things, and it would be much easier and more useful to
+build a cold frame to keep choice auriculas and _half-hardies_ in.
+
+When we took up our gardens so hotly, Harry and Adela took up theirs,
+and we did a great deal, for the weather was fine.
+
+We were surprised to find that the Old Squire's Scotch Gardener knew
+Miller's Gardener's Dictionary quite well. He said, "It's a gran'
+wurrk!" (Arthur can say it just like him.)
+
+One day he wished he could see it, and smell the russia binding; he
+said he liked to feel a nice smell. Father was away, and we were by
+ourselves, so we invited him into the library. Saxon wanted to come in
+too, but the gardener was very cross with him, and sent him out; and
+he sat on the mat outside and dribbled with longing to get in, and
+thudded his stiff tail whenever he saw anyone through the doorway.
+
+The Scotch Gardener enjoyed himself very much, and he explained a lot
+of things to Arthur, and helped us to put away the Dictionary when we
+had done with it.
+
+When he took up his hat to go, he gave one long look all round the
+library. Then he turned to Arthur (and Saxon took advantage of this to
+wag his way in and join the party), and said, "It's a rare privilege,
+the free entry of a book chamber like this. I'm hoping, young
+gentleman, that you're not insensible of it?"
+
+Then he caught sight of Saxon, and beat him out of the room with his
+hat.
+
+But he came back himself to say, that it might just happen that he
+would be glad now and again to hear what was said about this or that
+plant (of which he would write down the botanical name) in these
+noble volumes.
+
+So we told him that if he would bring Saxon to see us pretty often, we
+would look out anything he wanted to know about in Miller's Gardener's
+Dictionary.
+
+
+CHAPTER IV.
+
+
+Looking round the library one day, to see if I could see any more
+books about gardening, I found the Book of Paradise.
+
+It is a very old book, and very queer. It has a brown leather
+back--not russia--and stiff little gold flowers and ornaments all the
+way down, where Miller's Dictionary has gold swans in crowns, and
+ornaments.
+
+There are a good many old books in the library, but they are not
+generally very interesting--at least not to us. So when I found that
+though this one had a Latin name on the title page, it was written in
+English, and that though it seemed to be about Paradise, it was really
+about a garden, and quite common flowers, I was delighted, for I
+always have cared more for gardening and flowers than for any other
+amusement, long before we found Miller's Gardener's Dictionary. And
+the Book of Paradise is much smaller than the dictionary, and easier
+to hold. And I like old, queer things, and it is very old and queer.
+
+The Latin name is, "_Paradisi in sole, Paradisus terrestris_," which
+we do not any of us understand, though we are all learning Latin; so
+we call it the Book of Paradise. But the English name is--"Or a Garden
+of all sorts of pleasant flowers which our English ayre will permitt
+to be noursed up;" and on the top of every page is written "The Garden
+of Pleasant Flowers," and it says--"Collected by John Parkinson,
+Apothecary of London, and the King's Herbarist, 1629."
+
+I had to think a minute to remember who was the king then, and it was
+King Charles I.; so then I knew that it was Queen Henrietta to whom
+the book was dedicated. This was the dedication:--
+
+     "TO THE QUEEN'S MOST EXCELLENT MAJESTY."
+
+     "_Madame_,--Knowing your Majesty so much delighted with all the
+     fair flowers of a Garden, and furnished with them as far beyond
+     others as you are eminent before them; this my Work of a Garden
+     long before this intended to be published, and but now only
+     finished, seemed as it were destined to be first offered into
+     your Highness's hands as of right, challenging the propriety of
+     Patronage from all others. Accept, I beseech your Majesty, this
+     speaking Garden, that may inform you in all the particulars of
+     your store as well as wants, when you cannot see any of them
+     fresh upon the ground: and it shall further encourage him to
+     accomplish the remainder; who in praying that your Highness may
+     enjoy the heavenly Paradise, after many years' fruition of this
+     earthly, submitteth to be your Majesties,"
+
+     "In all humble devotion,"
+
+     "JOHN PARKINSON."
+
+We like queer old things like this, they are so funny! I liked the
+Dedication, and I wondered if the Queen's Garden really was an Earthly
+Paradise, and whether she did enjoy reading John Parkinson's book
+about flowers in the winter time, when her own flowers were no longer
+"fresh upon the ground." And then I wondered what flowers she had, and
+I looked out a great many of our chief favorites, and she had several
+kinds of them.
+
+We are particularly fond of Daffodils, and she had several kinds of
+Daffodils, from the "Primrose Peerlesse,"[1] "of a sweet but stuffing
+scent," to "the least Daffodil of all,"[2] which the book says "was
+brought to us by a Frenchman called Francis le Vean, the honestest
+root-gatherer that ever came over to us."
+
+[Footnote 1: _Narcissus media lutens vulgaris._]
+
+[Footnote 2: _Narcissus minimus_, Parkinson. _N. minor_, Miller.]
+
+The Queen had Cowslips too, though our gardener despised them when he
+saw them in my garden. I dug mine up in Mary's Meadow before Father
+and the Old Squire went to law; but they were only common Cowslips,
+with one Oxlip, by good luck. In the Earthly Paradise there were
+"double Cowslips, one within another." And they were called
+Hose-in-Hose. I wished I had Hose-in-Hose.
+
+Arthur was quite as much delighted with the Book of Paradise as I. He
+said, "Isn't it funny to think of Queen Henrietta Maria gardening. I
+wonder if she went trailing up and down the walks looking like that
+picture of her we saw when you and I were in London with Mother about
+our teeth, and went to see the Loan Collection of Old Masters. I
+wonder if the Dwarf picked the flowers for her. I do wonder what
+Apothecary John Parkinson looked like when he offered his Speaking
+Garden into her Highnesses' hands. And what beautiful hands she had!
+Do you remember the picture, Mary? It was by Vandyke."
+
+I remembered it quite well.
+
+That afternoon the others could not amuse themselves, and wanted me to
+tell them a story. They do not like old stories too often, and it is
+rather difficult to invent new ones. Sometimes we do it by turns. We
+sit in a circle and one of us begins, and the next must add something,
+and so we go on. But that way does not make a good plot. My head was
+so full of the Book of Paradise that afternoon that I could not think
+of a story, but I said I would begin one. So I began:
+
+"Once upon a time there was a Queen--"
+
+"How was she dressed?" asked Adela, who thinks a good deal about
+dress.
+
+"She had a beautiful dark-blue satin robe."
+
+"Princesse shape?" inquired Adela.
+
+"No; Queen's shape," said Arthur. "Drive on, Mary."
+
+"And lace ruffles falling back from her Highness' hands--"
+
+"Sweet!" murmured Adela.
+
+"And a high hat, with plumes, on her head, and--"
+
+"A very low dwarf at her heels," added Arthur.
+
+"Was there really a dwarf, Mary?" asked Harry.
+
+"There was," said I.
+
+"Had he a hump, or was he only a plain dwarf?"
+
+"He was a very plain dwarf," said Arthur.
+
+"Does Arthur know the story, Mary?"
+
+"No, Harry, he doesn't; and he oughtn't to interfere till I come to a
+stop."
+
+"Beg pardon, Mary. Drive on."
+
+"The Queen was very much delighted with all fair flowers, and she had
+a garden so full of them that it was called the Earthly Paradise."
+
+There was a long-drawn and general "Oh!" of admiration.
+
+"But though she was a Queen, she couldn't have flowers in the winter,
+not even in an Earthly Paradise."
+
+"Don't you suppose she had a greenhouse, by-the-bye, Mary?" said
+Arthur.
+
+"Oh, Arthur," cried Harry, "I do wish you'd be quiet: when you know
+it's a fairy story, and that Queens of that sort never had greenhouses
+or anything like we have now."
+
+"And so the King's Apothecary and Herbarist, whose name was John
+Parkinson--"
+
+"I shouldn't have thought he would have had a common name like that,"
+said Harry.
+
+"Bessy's name is Parkinson," said Adela.
+
+"Well, I can't help it; his name _was_ John Parkinson."
+
+"Drive on, Mary!" said Arthur.
+
+"And he made her a book, called the Book of Paradise, in which there
+were pictures and written accounts of her flowers, so that when she
+could not see any of them fresh upon the ground, she could read about
+them, and think about them, and count up how many she had."
+
+"Ah, but she couldn't tell. Some of them might have died in the
+winter," said Adela.
+
+"Ah, but some of the others might have got little ones at their
+roots," said Harry. "So that would make up."
+
+I said nothing. I was glad of the diversion, for I could not think
+how to go on with the story. Before I quite gave in, Harry luckily
+asked, "Was there a Weeding Woman in the Earthly Paradise?"
+
+"There was," said I.
+
+"How was she dressed?" asked Adela.
+
+"She had a dress the color of common earth."
+
+"Princesse shape?" inquired Arthur.
+
+"No; Weeding Woman shape. Arthur, I wish you wouldn't--"
+
+"All right, Mary. Drive on."
+
+"And a little shawl, that had partly the color of grass, and partly
+the color of hay."
+
+"_Hay, dear!_" interpolated Arthur, exactly imitating a well-known
+sigh peculiar to Bessy's aunt.
+
+"Was her bonnet like our weeding woman's bonnet?" asked Adela, in a
+disappointed tone.
+
+"Much larger," said I, "and the color of a Marigold."
+
+Adela looked happier. "Strings the same?" she asked.
+
+"No. One string canary color, and the other white."
+
+"And a basket?" asked Harry.
+
+"Yes, a basket, of course. Well, the Queen had all sorts of flowers in
+her garden. Some of them were natives of the country, and some of them
+were brought to her from countries far away, by men called
+Root-gatherers. There were very beautiful Daffodils in the Earthly
+Paradise, but the smallest of all the Daffodils--"
+
+"A Dwarf, like the Hunchback?" said Harry.
+
+"The Dwarf Daffodil of all was brought to her by a man called Francis
+le Vean."
+
+"That was a _much_ nicer name than John Parkinson," said Harry.
+
+"And he was the honestest Root-gatherer that ever brought foreign
+flowers into the Earthly Paradise."
+
+"Then I love him!" said Harry.
+
+
+CHAPTER V.
+
+
+One sometimes thinks it is very easy to be good, and then there comes
+something which makes it very hard.
+
+I liked being a Little Mother to the others, and almost enjoyed giving
+way to them. "Others first, Little Mothers afterwards," as we used to
+say--till the day I made up that story for them out of the Book of
+Paradise.
+
+The idea of it took our fancy completely, the others as well as mine,
+and though the story was constantly interrupted, and never came to any
+real plot or end, there were no Queens, or dwarfs, or characters of
+any kind in all Bechstein's fairy tales, or even in Grimm, more
+popular than the Queen of the Blue Robe and her Dwarf, and the Honest
+Root-gatherer, and John Parkinson, King's Apothecary and Herbarist,
+and the Weeding Woman of the Earthly Paradise.
+
+When I said, "Wouldn't it be a good new game to have an Earthly
+Paradise in our gardens, and to have a King's Apothecary and Herbarist
+to gather things and make medicine of them, and an honest
+Root-gatherer to divide the polyanthus plants and the bulbs when we
+take them up, and divide them fairly, and a Weeding Woman to work and
+make things tidy, and a Queen in a blue dress, and Saxon for the
+Dwarf"--the others set up such a shout of approbation that Father sent
+James to inquire if we imagined that he was going to allow his house
+to be turned into a bear-garden.
+
+And Arther said, "No. Tell him we're only turning it into a Speaking
+Garden, and we're going to turn our own gardens into an Earthly
+Paradise."
+
+But I said, "Oh, James! please don't say anything of the kind. Say
+we're very sorry, and we will be quite quiet."
+
+And James said, "Trust me, Miss. It would be a deal more than my place
+is worth to carry Master Arthur's messages to his Pa."
+
+"I'll be the honestest Root-gatherer," said Harry. "I'll take up
+Dandelion roots to the very bottom and sell them to the King's
+Apothecary to make Dandelion tea of."
+
+"That's a good idea of yours, Harry," said Arthur, "I shall be John
+Parkinson--"
+
+"_My_ name is Francis le Vean," said Harry.
+
+"King's Apothecary and Herbarist," continued Arthur disdaining the
+interruption. "And I'll bet you my Cloth of Gold Pansy to your Black
+Prince that Bessy's aunt takes three bottles of my dandelion and
+chamomile mixture for 'the swimmings,' bathes her eyes every morning
+with my elder flower lotion to strengthen the sight, and sleeps every
+night on my herb pillow (if Mary'll make me a flannel bag) before the
+week's out."
+
+"I could make you a flannel bag," said Adela, "if Mary will make me a
+bonnet, so that I can be the Weeding Woman. You could make it of
+tissue paper, with stiff paper inside, like all those caps you made
+for us last Christmas, Mary, dear, couldn't you? And there is some
+lovely orange-colored paper, I know, and pale yellow, and white. The
+bonnet was Marygold-color, was it not? And one string canary-colored
+and one white. I couldn't tie them, of course, being paper; but
+Bessy's aunt doesn't tie her bonnet. She wears it like a helmet, to
+shade her eyes. I shall wear mine so, too. It will be all Marygold,
+won't it dear? Front _and_ crown; and the white string going back over
+one shoulder, and the canary string over the other. They might be
+pinned together behind, perhaps, if they were in my way. Don't you
+think so?"
+
+I said "Yes," because if one does not say something, Adela never stops
+saying whatever it is she is saying, even if she has to say it two or
+three times over.
+
+But I felt so cross and so selfish, that if Mother _could_ have known
+she _would_ have despised me!
+
+For the truth was, I had set my heart upon being the Weeding Woman. I
+thought Adela would want to be the Queen, because of the blue dress,
+and the plumed hat, and the lace ruffles. Besides, she likes picking
+flowers, but she never liked grubbing. She would not really like the
+Weeding Woman's work; it was the bonnet that had caught her fancy, and
+I found it hard to smother the vexing thought that if I had gone on
+dressing the Weeding Woman of the Earthly Paradise like Bessy's aunt,
+instead of trying to make the story more interesting by inventing a
+marygold bonnet with yellow and white strings for her, I might have
+had the part I wished to play in our new game (which certainly was of
+my devising), and Adela would have been better pleased to be the Queen
+than to be anything else.
+
+As it was, I knew that if I asked her she would give up the Weeding
+Woman. Adela is very good, and she is very good-natured. And I knew,
+too, that it would not have cost her much. She would have given a
+sigh about the bonnet, and then have turned her whole attention to a
+blue robe, and how to manage the ruffles.
+
+But even whilst I was thinking about it, Arthur said: "Of course, Mary
+must be the Queen, unless we could think of something else--very
+good--for her. If we could have thought of something, Mary, I was
+thinking how jolly it would be, when Mother comes home, to have had
+_her_ for the Queen, with Chris for her Dwarf, and to give her flowers
+out of our Earthly Paradise."
+
+"She would look just like a Queen," said Harry.
+
+"In her navy blue nun's cloth and Russian lace," said Adela.
+
+That settled the question. Nothing could be so nice as to have Mother
+in the game, and the plan provided for Christopher also. I had no wish
+to be Queen, as far as that went. Dressing up, and walking about the
+garden would be no fun for me. I really had looked forward to clearing
+away big baskets full of weeds and rubbish, and keeping our five
+gardens and the paths between them so tidy as they had never been kept
+before. And I knew the weeds would have a fine time of it with Adela,
+as Weeding Woman, in a tissue paper bonnet!
+
+But one thing was more important than tidy gardens--not to be
+selfish.
+
+I had been left as Little Mother to the others, and I had been lucky
+enough to think of a game that pleased them. If I turned selfish now,
+it would spoil everything.
+
+So I said that Arthur's idea was excellent; that I had no wish to be
+Queen, that I thought I might, perhaps, devise another character for
+myself by-and-by; and that if the others would leave me alone, I would
+think about it whilst I was making Adela's bonnet.
+
+The others were quite satisfied. Father says people always are
+satisfied with things in general, when they've got what they want for
+themselves, and I think that is true.
+
+I got the tissue paper and the gum; resisted Adela's extreme desire to
+be with me and talk about the bonnet, and shut myself up in the
+library.
+
+I got out the _Book of Paradise_ too, and propped it up in an
+armchair, and sat on a footstool in front of it, so that I could read
+in between whiles of making the bonnet. There is an index, so that you
+can look out the flowers you want to read about. It was no use our
+looking out flowers, except common ones, such as Harry would be
+allowed to get bits of out of the big garden to plant in our little
+gardens, when he became our Honest Root-gatherer.
+
+I looked at the Cowslips again. I am very fond of them, and so they
+say, are nightingales; which is, perhaps, why that nightingale we
+know lives in Mary's Meadow, for it is full of cowslips.
+
+The Queen had a great many kinds, and there are pictures of most of
+them. She had the Common Field Cowslip, the Primrose Cowslip, the
+Single Green Cowslip, Curled Cowslips, or Galligaskins, Double
+Cowslips, or Hose-in-Hose, and the Franticke or Foolish Cowslip, or
+Jackanapes on Horsebacke.
+
+I did not know any of them except the Common Cowslip, but I remembered
+that Bessy's aunt once told me that she had a double cowslip. It was
+the day I was planting common ones in my garden, when our gardener
+despised them. Bessy's aunt despised them too, and she said the double
+ones were only fit for a cottage garden. I laughed so much that I tore
+the canary-colored string as I was gumming it on to the bonnet, to
+think how I could tell her now that cowslips are Queen's flowers, the
+common ones as well as the Hose-in-Hose.
+
+Then I looked out the Honeysuckle, it was page 404, and there were no
+pictures. I began at the beginning of the chapter; this was it, and it
+was as funnily spelt as the preface, but I could read it.
+
+"Chap. cv. _Periclymemum_. Honeysuckles.
+
+"The Honisucle that groweth wilde in euery hedge, although it be very
+sweete, yet doe I not bring it into my garden, but let it rest in his
+owne place, to serue their senses that trauell by it, or haue no
+garden."
+
+I had got so far when James came in. He said--"Letters, Miss."
+
+It was the second post, and there was a letter for me, and a book
+parcel; both from Mother.
+
+Mother's letters are always delightful; and, like things she says,
+they often seem to come in answer to something you have been thinking
+about, and which you would never imagine she could know, unless she
+was a witch. This was _the knowing bit_ in that letter:--"_Your dear
+father's note this morning did me more good than bottles of tonic. It
+is due to you, my trustworthy little daughter, to tell you of the bit
+that pleased me most. He says--'The children seem to me to be behaving
+unusually well, and I must say, I believe the credit belongs to Mary.
+She seems to have a genius for keeping them amused, which luckily
+means keeping them out of mischief.' Now, good Little Mother, I wonder
+how you yourself are being entertained? I hope the others are not
+presuming on your unselfishness? Anyhow, I send you a book for your
+own amusement when they leave you a bit of peace and quiet. I have
+long been fond of it in French, and I have found an English
+translation with nice little pictures, and send it to you. I know you
+will enjoy it, because you are so fond of flowers._"
+
+Oh, how glad I was that I had let Adela be the Weeding Woman with a
+good grace, and could open my book parcel with a clear conscience!
+
+I put the old book away and buried myself in the new one.
+
+I never had a nicer. It was called "A Tour Round my Garden," and some
+of the little stones in it--like the Tulip Rebecca, and the
+Discomfited Florists--were very amusing indeed; and some were sad and
+pretty, like the Yellow Roses; and there were delicious bits, like the
+Enriched Woodman and the Connoisseur Deceived; but there was no
+"stuff" in it at all.
+
+Some chapters were duller than others, and at last I got into a very
+dull one, about the vine, and it had a good deal of Greek in it, and
+we have not begun Greek.
+
+But after the Greek, and the part about Bacchus and Anacreon (I did
+not care about _them_; they were not in the least like the Discomfited
+Florists, or the Enriched Woodman!) there came this, and I liked it
+the best of all:--
+
+"At the extremity of my garden the vine extends in long porticos,
+through the arcades of which may be seen trees of all sorts, and
+foliage of all colors. There is an _azerolier_ (a small medlar) which
+is covered in autumn with little apples, producing the richest effect.
+I have given away several grafts of this; far from deriving pleasure
+from the privation of others, I do my utmost to spread and render
+common and vulgar all the trees and plants that I prefer; it is as if
+I multiplied the pleasure and the chances of beholding them of all
+who, like me, really love flowers for their splendor, their grace, and
+their perfume. Those who, on the contrary, are jealous of their
+plants, and only esteem them in proportion with their conviction that
+no one else possesses them, do not love flowers; and be assured that
+it is either chance or poverty which has made them collectors of
+flowers, instead of being collectors of pictures, cameos, medals, or
+any other thing that might serve as an excuse for indulging in all the
+joys of possession, seasoned with the idea that others do not possess.
+
+"I have even carried the vulgarisation of beautiful flowers farther
+than this.
+
+"I ramble about the country near my dwelling, and seek the widest and
+least frequented spots. In these, after clearing and preparing a few
+inches of ground, I scatter the seeds of my most favorite plants,
+which re-sow themselves, perpetuate themselves, and multiply
+themselves. At this moment, whilst the fields display nothing but the
+common red poppy, strollers find with surprise in certain wild nooks
+of our country, the most beautiful double poppies, with their white,
+red, pink, carnation, and variegated blossoms.
+
+"At the foot of an isolated tree, instead of the little bindweed with
+its white flower, may sometimes be found the beautifully climbing
+convolvulus major, of all the lovely colors that can be imagined.
+
+"Sweet peas fasten their tendrils to the bushes, and cover them with
+the deliciously-scented white, rose-color, or white and violet
+butterflies."
+
+"It affords me immense pleasure to fix upon a wild-rose in the hedge,
+and graft upon it red and white cultivated roses, sometimes single
+roses of a magnificent golden yellow, then large Provence roses, or
+others variegated with red and white."
+
+"The rivulets in our neighborhood do not produce on their banks these
+forget-me-nots, with their blue flowers, with which the rivulet of my
+garden is adorned; I mean to save the seed, and scatter it in my
+walks."
+
+"I have observed two young wild quince trees in the nearest wood; next
+spring I will engraft upon them two of the best kinds of pears."
+
+"And then, how I enjoy beforehand and in imagination, the pleasure and
+surprise which the solitary stroller will experience when he meets in
+his rambles with those beautiful flowers and these delicious fruits!"
+
+"This fancy of mine may, one day or another, cause some learned
+botanist who is herborising in these parts a hundred years hence, to
+print a stupid and startling system. All these beautiful flowers will
+have become common in the country, and will give it an aspect peculiar
+to itself; and, perhaps, chance or the wind will cast a few of the
+seeds or some of them amidst the grass which shall cover my forgotten
+grave!"
+
+This was the end of the chapter, and then there was a vignette, a very
+pretty one, of a cross-marked, grass-bound grave.
+
+Some books, generally grown-up ones, put things into your head with a
+sort of rush, and now it suddenly rushed into mine--"_That's what I'll
+be!_ I can think of a name hereafter--but that's what I'll do. I'll
+take seeds and cuttings, and off-shoots from our garden, and set them
+in waste-places, and hedges, and fields, and I'll make an Earthly
+Paradise of Mary's Meadow."
+
+
+CHAPTER VI.
+
+
+The only difficulty about my part was to find a name for it. I might
+have taken the name of the man who wrote the book--it is Alphonse
+Karr,--just as Arthur was going to be called John Parkinson. But I am
+a girl, so it seemed silly to take a man's name. And I wanted some
+kind of title, too, like King's Apothecary and Herbarist, or Weeding
+Woman, and Alphonse Karr does not seem to have had any by-name of that
+sort.
+
+I had put Adela's bonnet on my head to carry it safely, and was still
+sitting thinking, when the others burst into the library.
+
+Arthur was first, waving a sheet of paper; but when Adela saw the
+bonnet, she caught hold of his arm and pushed forward.
+
+"Oh, it's sweet! Mary, dear, you're an angel. You couldn't be better
+if you were a real milliner and lived in Paris. I'm sure you
+couldn't."
+
+"Mary," said Arthur, "remove that bonnet, which by no means becomes
+you, and let Adela take it into a corner and gibber over it to
+herself. I want you to hear this."
+
+"You generally do want the platform," I said, laughing. "Adela, I am
+very glad you like it. To-morrow, if I can find a bit of pink
+tissue-paper, I think I could gum on little pleats round the edge of
+the strings as a finish."
+
+I did not mind how gaudily I dressed the part of Weeding Woman now.
+
+"You are good. Mary. It will make it simply perfect; and, kilts don't
+you think? Not box pleats?"
+
+Arthur groaned.
+
+"You shall have which you like, dear. Now, Arthur, what is it?"
+
+Arthur shook out his paper, gave it a flap with the back of his hand,
+as you do with letters when you are acting, and said--"It's to Mother,
+and when she gets it, she'll be a good deal astonished, I fancy."
+
+When I had heard the letter, I thought so, too.
+
+     "TO THE QUEEN'S MOST EXCELLENT MAIESTIE--
+
+     "_My dear Mother_,--This is to tell you that we have made you
+     Queen of the Blue Robe, and that your son Christopher is a dwarf,
+     and we think you'll both be very much pleased when you hear it.
+     He can do as he likes about having a hump back. When you come
+     home we shall give faire flowers into your Highnesse hands--that
+     is if you'll do what I'm going to ask you, for nobody can grow
+     flowers out of nothing. I want you to write to John--write
+     straight to him, don't put it in your letter to Father--and tell
+     him that you have given us leave to have some of the seedlings
+     out of the frames, and that he's to dig us up a good big clump of
+     daffodils out of the shrubbery--and we'll divide them fairly, for
+     Harry is the Honestest Root-gatherer that ever came over to us.
+     We have turned the whole of our gardens into a _Paradisi in sole
+     Paradisus terrestris_, if you can construe that; but we must have
+     something to make a start. He's got no end of bedding things
+     over--that are doing nothing in the Kitchen Garden and might just
+     as well be in our Earthly Paradise. And please tell him to keep
+     us a tiny pinch of seed at the bottom of every paper when he is
+     sowing the annuals. A little goes a long way, particularly of
+     poppies. And you might give him a hint to let us have a
+     flower-pot or two now and then (I'm sure he takes ours if he
+     finds any of our dead window plants lying about), and that he
+     needn't be so mighty mean about the good earth in the potting
+     shed, or the labels either, they're dirt cheap. Mind you write
+     straight. If only you let John know that the gardens don't
+     entirely belong to him, you'll see that what's spare from the big
+     garden would more than set us going; and it shall further
+     encourage him to accomplish the remainder, who in praying that
+     your Highnesse may enjoy the heavenly Paradise after the many
+     years fruition of this earthly,
+
+     "Submitteth to be, Your Maiestie's, in all humble devotion,
+
+     JOHN PARKINSON,
+
+     "King's Apothecary and Herbalist.
+
+     "P. S.--It was Mary's idea."
+
+"My _dear_ Arthur!" said I.
+
+"Well, I know it's not very well mixed," said Arthur. "Not half so
+well as I intended at first. I meant to write it all in the Parkinson
+style. But then, I thought, if I put the part about John in queer
+language and old spelling, she mightn't understand what we want. But
+every word of the end comes out of the Dedication; I copied it the
+other day, and I think she'll find it a puzzlewig when she comes to
+it."
+
+After which Arthur folded his paper and put it into an envelope which
+he licked copiously, and closed the letter with a great deal of
+display. But then his industry coming to an abrupt end, as it often
+did, he tossed it to me saying, "You can address it, Mary;" so I
+enclosed it in my own letter to thank Mother for the book, and I fancy
+she did write to our gardener, for he gave us a good lot of things,
+and was much more good-natured than usual.
+
+After Arthur had tossed his letter to me, he clasped his hands over
+his head and walked up and down thinking. I thought he was calculating
+what he should be able to get out of John, for when you are planning
+about a garden, you seem to have to do so much calculating. Suddenly
+he stopped in front of me and threw down his arms. "Mary," he said,
+"if Mother were at home, she _would_ despise us for selfishness,
+wouldn't she just?"
+
+"I don't think it's selfish to want spare things for our gardens, if
+she gives us leave," said I.
+
+"I'm not thinking of that," said Arthur; "and you're not selfish, you
+never are; but she would despise me, and Adela, and Harry, because
+we've taken your game, and got our parts, and you've made that
+preposterous bonnet for Adela to be the Weeding Woman in----much
+she'll weed!----"
+
+"I _shall_ weed," said Adela.
+
+"Oh, yes! You'll weed,--Groundsel!--and leave Mary to get up the docks
+and dandelions, and clear away the heap. But, never mind. Here we've
+taken Mary's game, and she hasn't even got a part."
+
+"Yes," said I, "I have; I have got a capital part. I have only to
+think of a name."
+
+"How shall you be dressed?" asked Adela.
+
+"I don't know yet," said I. "I have only just thought of the part."
+
+"Are you sure it's a good-enough one?" asked Harry, with a grave and
+remorseful air; "because, if not, you must take Francis le Vean. Girls
+are called Frances sometimes."
+
+I explained, and I read aloud the bit that had struck my fancy.
+
+Arthur got restless half-way through, and took out the Book of
+Paradise. His letter was on his mind. But Adela was truly delighted.
+
+"Oh, Mary," she said, "it is lovely. And it just suits you. It suits
+you much better than being a Queen."
+
+"Much better," said I.
+
+"You'll be exactly the reverse of me," said Harry. "When I'm digging
+up, you'll be putting in."
+
+"Mary," said Arthur, from the corner where he was sitting with the
+Book of Paradise in his lap, "what have you put a mark in the place
+about honeysuckle for?"
+
+"Oh, only because I was just reading there when James brought the
+letters."
+
+"John Parkinson can't have been quite so nice a man as Alphonse Karr,"
+said Adela; "not so unselfish. He took care of the Queen's Gardens,
+but he didn't think of making the lanes and hedges nice for poor
+wayfarers."
+
+I was in the rocking-chair, and I rocked harder to shake up something
+that was coming into my head. Then I remembered.
+
+"Yes, Adela, he did--a little. He wouldn't root up the honeysuckle out
+of the hedges (and I suppose he wouldn't let his root-gatherers grub
+it up, either); he didn't put it in the Queen's Gardens, but left it
+wild outside----"
+
+"To serve their senses that travel by it, or have no garden,"
+interrupted Arthur, reading from the book, "and, oh, Mary! that
+reminds me--_travel_--_travellers_. I've got a name for your part just
+coming into my head. But it dodges out again like a wire worm through
+a three pronged fork. _Travel_--_traveler_--_travelers_--what's the
+common name for the--oh, dear! the what's his name that scrambles
+about in the hedges. A flower--you know?"
+
+"Deadly Nightshade?" said Harry.
+
+"Deadly fiddlestick!----"
+
+"Bryony?" I suggested.
+
+"Oh, no; it begins with C."
+
+"Clematis?" said Adela.
+
+"Clematis. Right you are, Adela. And the common name for Clematis is
+Traveller's Joy. And that's the name for you, Mary, because you're
+going to serve their senses that travel by hedges and ditches and
+perhaps have no garden."
+
+"Traveller's Joy," said Harry. "Hooray!"
+
+"Hooray!" said Adela, and she waved the Weeding Woman's bonnet.
+
+It was a charming name, but it was too good for me, and I said so.
+
+Arthur jumped on the rockers, and rocked me to stop my talking. When I
+was far back, he took the point of my chin in his two hands and lifted
+up my cheeks to be kissed, saying in his very kindest way, "It's not a
+bit too good for you--it's you all over."
+
+Then he jumped off as suddenly as he had jumped on, and as I went back
+with a bounce he cried, "Oh, Mary! give me back that letter. I must
+put another postscript and another puzzlewig. P.P.S.--Excellent
+Majesty: Mary will still be our Little Mother on all common occasions,
+as you wished, but in the Earthly Paradise we call her Traveller's
+Joy."
+
+
+CHAPTER VII.
+
+
+There are two or three reasons why the part of Traveller's Joy suited
+me very well. In the first place it required a good deal of trouble,
+and I like taking trouble. Then John was willing to let me do many
+things he would not have allowed the others to do, because he could
+trust me to be careful and to mind what he said.
+
+On each side of the long walk in the kitchen garden there are flowers
+between you and the vegetables, herbaceous borders, with nice big
+clumps of things that have suckers, and off-shoots and seedlings at
+their feet.
+
+"The Long Walk's the place to steal from if I wasn't an _honest_
+Root-gatherer," said Harry.
+
+John had lovely poppies there that summer. When I read about the
+poppies Alphonse Karr sowed in the wild nooks of his native country,
+it made me think of John's French poppies, and pæony poppies, and
+ranunculus poppies, and carnation poppies, some very large, some quite
+small, some round and neat, some full and ragged like Japanese
+chrysanthemums, but all of such beautiful shades of red, rose,
+crimson, pink, pale blush, and white, that if they had but smelt like
+carnations instead of smelling like laudanum when you have the
+toothache, they would have been quite perfect.
+
+In one way they are nicer than carnations. They have such lots of
+seed, and it is so easy to get. I asked John to let me have some of
+the heads. He could not possibly want them all, for each head has
+enough in it to sow two or three yards of a border. He said I might
+have what seeds I liked, if I used scissors, and did not drag things
+out of the ground by pulling. But I was not to let the young gentlemen
+go seed gathering. "Boys be so destructive," John said.
+
+After a time, however, I persuaded him to let Harry transplant
+seedlings of the things that sow themselves and come up in the autumn,
+if they came up a certain distance from the parent plants. Harry got a
+lot of things for our Paradise in this way; indeed he would not have
+got much otherwise, except wild flowers; and, as he said, "How can I
+be your Honest Root-gatherer if I mayn't gather anything up by the
+roots?"
+
+I can't help laughing sometimes to think of the morning when he left
+off being our Honest Root-gatherer. He did look so funny, and so like
+Chris.
+
+A day or two before, the Scotch Gardener had brought Saxon to see us,
+and a new kind of mouldiness that had got into his grape vines to show
+to John.
+
+He was very cross with Saxon for walking on my garden. (And I am sure
+I quite forgave him, for I am so fond of him, and he knew no better,
+poor dear!) But though he kicked Saxon, the Scotch Gardener was kind
+to us. He told us that the reason our gardens do not do so well as the
+big garden, and that my _Jules Margottin_ has not such big roses as
+John's _Jules Margottin_ is because we have never renewed the soil.
+
+Arthur and Harry got very much excited about this. They made the
+Scotch Gardener tell them what good soil ought to be made of, and all
+the rest of the day they talked of nothing but _compost_. Indeed
+Arthur would come into my room and talk about compost after I had gone
+to bed.
+
+Father's farming man was always much more good-natured to us than John
+ever was. He would give us anything we wanted. Warm milk when the cows
+were milked, or sweet-pea sticks, or bran to stuff the dolls' pillows.
+I've known him take his hedging bill, in his dinner hour, and cut fuel
+for our beacon-fire, when we were playing at a French Invasion.
+Nothing could be kinder.
+
+Perhaps we do not tease him so much as we tease John. But when I say
+that, Arthur says, "Now, Mary, that's just how you explain away
+things. The real difference between John and Michael is, that Michael
+is good-natured and John is not. Catch John showing me the duck's nest
+by the pond, or letting you into the cow-house to kiss the new calf
+between the eyes--if he were farm man instead of gardener!"
+
+And the night Arthur sat in my room, talking about compost, he said,
+"I shall get some good stuff out of Michael, I know; and Harry and I
+see our way to road scrapings if we can't get sand; and we mean to
+take precious good care John doesn't have all the old leaves to
+himself. It's the top spit that puzzles us, and loam is the most
+important thing of all."
+
+"What is top spit?" I asked.
+
+"It's the earth you get when you dig up squares of grass out of a
+field like the paddock. The new earth that's just underneath. I expect
+John got a lot when he turfed that new piece by the pond, but I don't
+believe he'd spare us a flower-pot full to save his life."
+
+"Don't quarrel with John, Arthur. It's no good."
+
+"I won't quarrel with him if he behaves himself," said Arthur, "but we
+mean to have some top spit, somehow."
+
+"If you aggravate him he'll only complain of us to Father."
+
+"I know," said Arthur hotly, "and beastly mean of him, too, when he
+knows what Father is about this sort of thing."
+
+"I know it's mean. But what's the good of fighting when you'll only
+get the worst of it?"
+
+"Why to show that you're in the right, and that you know you are,"
+said Arthur. "Good night, Mary. We'll have a compost heap of our own
+this autumn, mark my words."
+
+Next day, in spite of my remonstrances, Arthur and Harry came to open
+war with John, and loudly and long did they rehearse their
+grievances, when we were out of Father's hearing.
+
+"Have we ever swept our own walks, except that once, long ago, when
+the German women came round with threepenny brooms?" asked Arthur,
+throwing out his right arm, as if he were making a speech. "And think
+of all the years John has been getting leaf mould for himself out of
+our copper beech leaves and now refuses us a barrow load of loam!"
+
+The next morning but one Harry was late for breakfast, and then it
+seemed that he was not dressing; he had gone out,--very early, one of
+the servants said. It frightened me, and I went out to look for him.
+
+When I came upon him in our gardens, it was he who was frightened.
+
+"Oh, dear," he exclaimed, "I thought you were John."
+
+I have often seen Harry dirty--very dirty,--but from the mud on his
+boots to the marks on his face where he had pushed the hair out of his
+eyes with earthy fingers, I never saw him quite so grubby before. And
+if there had been a clean place left in any part of his clothes well
+away from the ground, that spot must have been soiled by a huge and
+very dirty sack, under the weight of which his poor little shoulders
+were bent nearly to his knees.
+
+"What are you doing, Honest Root-gatherer?" I asked; "are you turning
+yourself into a hump-backed dwarf?"
+
+"I'm not honest, and I'm not a root-gatherer just now," said Harry,
+when he had got breath after setting down his load. He spoke shyly and
+a little surlily like Chris when he is in mischief.
+
+"Harry, what's that?"
+
+"It's a sack I borrowed from Michael. It won't hurt it, it's had
+mangel-wurzels in already."
+
+"What have you got in it now? It looks dreadfully heavy."
+
+"It _is_ heavy, I can tell you," said Harry, with one more rub of his
+dirty fingers over his face.
+
+"You look half dead. What is it?"
+
+"It's top spit;" and Harry began to discharge his load on to the walk.
+
+"Oh, Harry, where did you get it?"
+
+"Out of the paddock. I've been digging up turfs and getting this out,
+and putting the turfs back, and stamping them down not to show, ever
+since six o'clock. It _was_ hard work; and I was so afraid of John
+coming. Mary, you won't tell tales?"
+
+"No, Harry. But I don't think you ought to have taken it without
+Mother's leave."
+
+"I don't think you can call it stealing," said Harry. "Fields are a
+kind of wild places anyhow, and the paddock belongs to Father, and it
+certainly doesn't belong to John."
+
+"No," said I, doubtfully.
+
+"I won't get any more; it's dreadfully hard work," said Harry, but as
+he shook the sack out and folded it up, he added (in rather a
+satisfied tone), "I've got a good deal."
+
+I helped him to wash himself for breakfast, and half way through he
+suddenly smiled and said, "John Parkinson will be glad when he sees
+_you-know-what_, Mary, whatever the other John thinks of it."
+
+But Harry did not cut any more turfs without leave, for he told me
+that he had a horrid dream that night of waking up in prison with a
+warder looking at him through a hole in the door of his cell, and
+finding out that he was in penal servitude for stealing top spit from
+the bottom of the paddock, and Father would not take him out of
+prison, and that Mother did not know about it.
+
+However, he and Arthur made a lot of compost. They said we couldn't
+possibly have a Paradise without it.
+
+It made them very impatient. We always want the spring and summer and
+autumn and winter to get along faster than they do. But this year
+Arthur and Harry were very impatient with summer.
+
+They were nearly caught one day by Father coming home just as they had
+got through the gates with Michael's old sack full of road-scrapings,
+instead of sand (we have not any sand growing near us, and silver
+sand is rather dear), but we did get leaves together and stacked them
+to rot into leaf mould.
+
+Leaf mould is splendid stuff, but it takes a long time for the leaves
+to get mouldy, and it takes a great many, too. Arthur is rather
+impatient, and he used to say--"I never saw leaves stick on to
+branches in such a way. I mean to get into some of these old trees and
+give them a good shaking to remind them what time of year it is. If I
+don't we shan't have anything like enough leaves for our compost."
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII.
+
+
+Mother was very much surprised by Arthur's letter, but not so much
+puzzled as he expected. She knew Parkinson's _Paradisus_ quite well,
+and only wrote to me to ask; "What are the boys after with the old
+books? Does your Father know?"
+
+But when I told her that he had given us leave to be in the library,
+and that we took great care of the books, and how much we enjoyed the
+ones about gardening, and all that we were going to do, she was very
+kind indeed, and promised to put on a blue dress and lace ruffles and
+be Queen of our Earthly Paradise as soon as she came home.
+
+When she did come home she was much better, and so was Chris. He was
+delighted to be our Dwarf, but he wanted to have a hump, and he would
+have such a big one that it would not keep in its place, and kept
+slipping under his arm and into all sorts of queer positions.
+
+Not one of us enjoyed our new game more than Chris did, and he was
+always teasing me to tell him the story I had told the others, and to
+read out the names of the flowers which "the real Queen" had in her
+"real paradise." He made Mother promise to try to get him a bulb of
+the real Dwarf Daffodil as his next birthday present, to put in his
+own garden.
+
+"And I'll give you some compost," said Arthur. "It'll be ever so much
+better than a stupid book with 'stuff' in it."
+
+Chris did seem much stronger. He had color in his cheeks, and his head
+did not look so large. But he seemed to puzzle over things in it as
+much as ever, and he was just as odd and quaint.
+
+One warm day I had taken the "Tour round my Garden," and was sitting
+near the bush in the little wood behind our house, when Chris came
+after me with a Japanese fan in his hand, and sat down cross-legged at
+my feet. As I was reading, and Mother has taught us not to interrupt
+people when they are reading, he said nothing, but there he sat.
+
+"What is it Chris?" said I.
+
+"I am discontented," said Chris.
+
+"I'm very sorry," said I.
+
+"I don't think I'm selfish, particularly, but I'm discontented."
+
+"What about?"
+
+"Oh, Mary, I do wish I had not been away when you invented Paradise,
+then I should have had a name in the game."
+
+"You've got a name, Chris. You're the Dwarf."
+
+"Ah, but what was the Dwarf's name?"
+
+"I don't know," I admitted.
+
+"No; that's just it. I've only one name, and Arthur and Harry have
+two. Arthur is a Pothecary" (Chris could never be induced to accept
+Apothecary as one word), "and he's John Parkinson as well. Harry is
+Honest Root-gatherer, and he is Francis le Vean. If I'd not been away
+I should have had two names."
+
+"You can easily have two names," said I. "We'll call the Dwarf Thomas
+Brown."
+
+Chris shook his big head.
+
+"No, no. That wasn't his name; I know it wasn't. It's only stuff. I
+want another name out of the old book."
+
+I dared not tell him that the dwarf was not in the old book. I said:
+
+"My dear Chris, you really are discontented; we can't all have double
+names. Adela has only one name, she is Weeding Woman and nothing else;
+and I have only one name, I'm Traveller's Joy, and that's all."
+
+"But you and Adela are girls," said Chris complacently. "The boys have
+two names."
+
+I suppressed some resentment, for Christopher's eyes were beginning to
+look weary, and said:
+
+"Shall I read to you for a bit?"
+
+"No, don't read. Tell me things out of the old book. Tell me about the
+Queen's flowers. Don't tell me about daffodils, they make me think
+what a long way off my birthday is, and I'm quite discontented
+enough."
+
+And Chris sighed, and lay down on the grass, with one arm under his
+head, and his fan in his hand; and, as well as I could remember, I
+told him all about the different varieties of Cowslips, down to the
+Franticke, or Foolish Cowslip, and he became quite happy.
+
+Dear Father is rather short sighted, but he can hold a round glass in
+his eye without cutting himself. It was the other eye which was next
+to Chris at prayers the following morning; but he saw his legs, and
+the servants had hardly got out of the hall before he shouted "Pull up
+your stockings, Chris!"--and then to Mother, "Why do you keep that
+sloven of a girl Bessy, if she can't dress the children decently? But
+I can't conceive what made you put that child into knickerbockers, he
+can't keep his stockings up."
+
+"Yes I can," said Christopher, calmly, looking at his legs.
+
+"Then what have you got 'em down for?" shouted Father.
+
+"They're not all down," said Chris, his head still bent over his
+knees, till I began to fear he would have a fit.
+
+"One of 'em is, anyhow. I saw it at prayers. Pull it up."
+
+"Two of them are," said Christopher, never lifting his admiring gaze
+from his stockings. "Two of them are down, and two of them are up,
+quite up, quite tidy."
+
+Dear Father rubbed his glass and put it back into his eye.
+
+"Why, how many stockings have you got on?"
+
+"Four," said Chris, smiling serenely at his legs; "and it isn't
+Bessy's fault. I put 'em all on myself, everyone of them."
+
+At this minute James brought in the papers, and Father only laughed,
+and said, "I never saw such a chap," and began to read. He is very
+fond of Christopher, and Chris is never afraid of him.
+
+I was going out of the room, and Chris followed me into the hall, and
+drew my attention to his legs, which were clothed in four stockings;
+one pair, as he said, being drawn tidily up over his knees, the other
+pair turned down with some neatness in folds a little above his
+ankles.
+
+"Mary," he said, "I'm contented now."
+
+"I'm very glad, Chris. But do leave off staring at your legs. All the
+blood will run into your head."
+
+"I wish things wouldn't always get into _my_ head, and nobody else's,"
+said Chris, peevishly, as he raised it; but when he looked back at his
+stockings, they seemed to comfort him again.
+
+"Mary, I've found another name for myself."
+
+"Dear Chris! I'm so glad."
+
+"It's a real one, out of the old book. I thought of it entirely by
+myself."
+
+"Good Dwarf. What is your name?"
+
+"_Hose-in-Hose,_" said Christopher, still smiling down upon his legs.
+
+
+CHAPTER IX.
+
+
+Alas for the hose-in-hose!
+
+I laughed over Christopher and his double stockings, and I danced for
+joy when Bessy's Aunt told me that she had got me a fine lot of roots
+of double cowslips. I never guessed what misery I was about to suffer,
+because of the hose-in-hose.
+
+I had almost forgotten that Bessy's Aunt knew double cowslips. After I
+became Traveller's Joy I was so busy with wayside planting that I had
+thought less of my own garden than usual, and had allowed Arthur to do
+what he liked with it as part of the Earthly Paradise (and he was
+always changing his plans), but Bessy's Aunt had not forgotten about
+it, which was very good of her.
+
+The Squire's Weeding Woman is old enough to be Bessy's Aunt, but she
+has an aunt of her own, who lives seven miles on the other side of the
+Moor, and the Weeding Woman does not get to see her very often. It is
+a very out-of-the-way village, and she has to wait for chances of a
+cart and team coming and going from one of the farms, and so get a
+lift.
+
+It was the Weeding Woman's Aunt who sent me the hose-in-hose.
+
+The Weeding Woman told me--"Aunt be mortal fond of her flowers, but
+she've no notions of gardening, not in the ways of a gentleman's
+garden. But she be after 'em all along, so well as the roomatiz in her
+back do let her, with an old shovel and a bit of stuff to keep the
+frost out, one time, and the old shovel and a bit of stuff to keep 'em
+moistened from the drought, another time; cuddling of 'em like
+Christians. Ee zee, Miss, Aunt be advanced in years; her family be off
+her mind, zum married, zum buried; and it zim as if her flowers be
+like new childern for her, spoilt childern, too, as I zay, and most
+fuss about they that be least worth it, zickly uns and contrairy uns,
+as parents will. Many's time I do say to she--'Th' old Zquire's
+garden, now, 'twould zim strange to thee, sartinly 'twould! How would
+'ee feel to see Gardener zowing's spring plants by the hunderd, and
+a-throwing of 'em away by the score when beds be vull, and turning of
+un out for bedding plants, and throwing they away when he've made his
+cuttings?' And she 'low she couldn't abear it, no more'n see Herod a
+mass-sakering of the Innocents. But if 'ee come to Bible, I do say
+Aunt put me in mind of the par'ble of the talents, she do, for what
+you give her she make ten of, while other folks be losing what they
+got. And 'tis well too, for if 'twas not for givin' of un away,
+seeing's she lose nothin', and can't abear to destry nothin', and
+never takes un up but to set un again, six in place of one, as I say,
+with such a mossel of a garden, 'Aunt, where would you be?' And she
+'low she can't tell, but the Lard would provide. 'Thank He,' I says,
+'You be so out o' way, and 'ee back so bad, and past travelling, zo
+there be no chance of 'ee ever seein' Old Zquire's Gardener's houses
+and they stove plants;' for if Gardener give un a pot, sure's death
+her'd set it in the chimbly nook on frosty nights, and put bed-quilt
+over un, and any cold corner would do for she."
+
+At this point the Weeding Woman became short of breath, and I managed
+to protest against taking so many plants of the hose-in-hose.
+
+"Take un and welcome, my dear, take un and welcome," replied Bessy's
+Aunt. "I did say to Aunt to keep two or dree, but 'One be aal I want,'
+her says, 'I'll have so many agin in a few years, dividin' of un in
+autumn,' her says. 'Thee've one foot in grave Aunt,' says I, 'it don't
+altogether become 'ee to forecast autumns,' I says, 'when next may be
+your latter end, 's like as not.' 'Niece,' her says, 'I be no ways
+presuming. His will be done,' her says, 'but if I'm spared I'll rear
+un, an if I'm took, 'twill be where I sha'n't want un. Zo let young
+lady have un,' her says. And there a be!"
+
+When I first saw the nice little plants, I did think of my own garden,
+but not for long. My next and final thought was--"Mary's Meadow!"
+
+Since I became Traveller's Joy, I had chiefly been busy in the
+hedge-rows by the high-roads, and in waste places, like the old
+quarry, and very bare and trampled bits, where there seemed to be no
+flowers at all.
+
+You cannot say that of Mary's Meadow. Not to be a garden, it is one of
+the most flowery places I know. I did once begin a list of all that
+grows in it, but it was in one of Arthur's old exercise books, which
+he had "thrown in," in a bargain we had, and there were very few blank
+pages left. I had thought a couple of pages would be more than enough,
+so I began with rather full accounts of the flowers, but I used up
+the book long before I had written out one half of what blossoms in
+Mary's Meadow.
+
+Wild roses, and white bramble, and hawthorn, and dogwood, with its
+curious red flowers; and nuts, and maple, and privet, and all sorts of
+bushes in the hedge, far more than one would think; and ferns, and the
+stinking iris, which has such splendid berries, in the ditch--the
+ditch on the lower side where it is damp, and where I meant to sow
+forget-me-nots, like Alphonse Karr, for there are none there as it
+happens. On the other side, at the top of the field, it is dry, and
+blue succory grows, and grows out on the road beyond. The most
+beautiful blue possible, but so hard to pick. And there are Lent
+lilies, and lords and ladies, and ground ivy, which smells herby when
+you find it, trailing about and turning the color of Mother's "aurora"
+wool in green winters; and sweet white violets, and blue dog violets,
+and primroses, of course, and two or three kinds of orchis, and all
+over the field cowslips, cowslips, cowslips--to please the
+nightingale.
+
+And I wondered if the nightingale would find out the hose-in-hose,
+when I had planted six of them in the sunniest, cosiest corner of
+Mary's Meadow.
+
+For this was what I resolved to do, though I kept my resolve to
+myself, for which I was afterwards very glad. I did not tell the
+others because I thought that Arthur might want some of the plants for
+our Earthly Paradise, and I wanted to put them all in Mary's Meadow.
+I said to myself, like Bessy's great-aunt, that "if I was spared" I
+would go next year and divide the roots of the six, and bring some
+offsets to our gardens, but I would keep none back now. The
+nightingale should have them all.
+
+We had been busy in our gardens, and in the roads and bye-lanes, and I
+had not been in Mary's Meadow for a long time before the afternoon
+when I put my little trowel, and a bottle of water, and the six
+hose-in-hose into a basket, and was glad to get off quietly and alone
+to plant them. The highways and hedges were very dusty, but there it
+was very green. The nightingale had long been silent, I do not know
+where he was, but the rooks were not at all silent; they had been
+holding a parliament at the upper end of the field this morning, and
+were now all talking at once, and flapping about the tops of the big
+elms which were turning bright yellow, whilst down below a flight of
+starlings had taken their place, and sat in the prettiest circles; and
+groups of hedge-sparrows flew and mimicked them. And in the fields
+round about the sheep baaed, and the air, which was very sweet, was so
+quiet that these country noises were the only sounds to be heard, and
+they could be heard from very far away.
+
+I had found the exact spot I wanted, and had planted four of the
+hose-in-hose, and watered them from the bottle, and had the fifth in
+my hand, and the sixth still in the basket, when all these nice noises
+were drowned by a loud harsh shout which made me start, and sent the
+flight of starlings into the next field, and made the hedge-sparrows
+jump into the hedge.
+
+And when I looked up I saw the Old Squire coming towards me, and
+storming and shaking his fist at me as he came. But with the other
+hand he held Saxon by the collar, who was struggling to get away from
+him and to go to me.
+
+I had so entirely forgotten about Father's quarrel with the Squire,
+that when the sight of the old gentleman in a rage suddenly reminded
+me, I was greatly stupefied and confused, and really did not at first
+hear what he said. But when I understood that he was accusing me of
+digging cowslips out of his field, I said at once (and pretty loud,
+for he was deaf) that I was not digging up anything, but was planting
+double cowslips to grow up and spread amongst the common ones.
+
+I suppose it did sound rather unlikely, as the Old Squire knew nothing
+about our game, but a thing being unlikely, is no reason for calling
+truthful people liars, and that was what the Old Squire called me.
+
+It choked me, and when he said I was shameless, and that he had caught
+me with the plants upon me, and yelled to me to empty my basket, I
+threw away the fifth and sixth hose-in-hose as if they had been
+adders, but I could not speak again. He must have been beside himself
+with rage, for he called me all sorts of names, and said I was my
+father's own child, a liar and a thief. Whilst he was talking about
+sending me to prison (and I thought of Harry's dream, and turned cold
+with fear), Saxon was tugging to get to me, and at last he got away
+and came rushing up.
+
+_Now_ I knew that the Old Squire was holding Saxon back because he
+thought Saxon wanted to worry me as a trespasser, but I don't know
+whether he let Saxon go at last, because he thought I deserved to be
+worried, or whether Saxon got away of himself. When his paws were
+almost on me the Old Squire left off abusing me, and yelled to the
+dog, who at last, very unwillingly, went back to him, but when he just
+got to the Squire's feet he stopped, and pawed the ground in the funny
+way he sometimes does, and looked up at his master as much as to say,
+"You see it's only play," and then turned round and raced back to me
+as hard as he could lay legs to ground. This time he reached me, and
+jumped to lick my face, and I threw my arms round his neck and burst
+into tears.
+
+When you are crying and kissing at the same time, you cannot hear
+anything else, so what more the Old Squire said I do not know.
+
+[Illustration: I THREW MY ARMS ROUND HIS NECK AND BURST INTO TEARS.]
+
+I picked up my basket and trowel at once, and fled homewards as fast
+as I could go, which was not very fast, so breathless was I with
+tears and shame and fright.
+
+When I was safe in our grounds I paused and looked back. The Old
+Squire was still there, shouting and gesticulating, and Saxon was at
+his heels, and over the hedge two cows were looking at him; but the
+rooks and the starlings were far off in distant trees and fields.
+
+And I sobbed afresh when I remembered that I had been called a liar
+and a thief, and had lost every one of my hose-in-hose; and this was
+all that had come of trying to make an Earthly Paradise of Mary's
+Meadow, and of taking upon myself the name of Traveller's Joy.
+
+
+CHAPTER X.
+
+
+I told no one. It was bad enough to think of by myself. I could not
+have talked about it. But every day I expected that the Old Squire
+would send a letter or a policeman, or come himself, and rage and
+storm, and tell Father.
+
+He never did; and no one seemed to suspect that anything had gone
+wrong, except that Mother fidgeted because I looked ill, and would
+show me to Dr. Solomon. It is a good thing doctors tell you what they
+think is the matter, and don't ask you what you think, for I could not
+have told him about the Squire. He said I was below par, and that it
+was our abominable English climate, and he sent me a bottle of tonic.
+And when I had taken half the bottle, and had begun to leave off
+watching for the policeman, I looked quite well again. So I took the
+rest, not to waste it, and thought myself very lucky. My only fear now
+was that Bessy's aunt might ask after the hose-in-hose. But she never
+did.
+
+I had one more fright, where I least expected it. It had never
+occurred to me that Lady Catherine would take an interest in our game,
+and want to know what we had done, and what we were doing, and what we
+were going to do, or I should have been far more afraid of her than of
+Bessy's aunt. For the Weeding Woman has a good deal of delicacy, and
+often begs pardon for taking liberties; but if Aunt Catherine takes an
+interest, and wants to know, she asks one question after another, and
+does not think whether you like to answer or not.
+
+She took an interest in our game after one of Christopher's luncheons
+with her.
+
+She often asks Chris to go there to luncheon, all by himself. Father
+is not very fond of his going, chiefly, I fancy, because he is so fond
+of Chris, and misses him. Sometimes, in the middle of luncheon, he
+looks at Christopher's empty place, and says, "I wonder what those two
+are talking about over their pudding. They are the queerest pair of
+friends." If we ask Chris what they have talked about, he wags his
+head, and looks very well pleased with himself, and says, "Lots of
+things. I tell her things, and she tells me things." And that is all
+we can get out of him.
+
+A few weeks afterwards, after I lost the hose-in-hose, Chris went to
+have luncheon with Aunt Catherine, and he came back rather later than
+usual.
+
+"You must have been telling each other a good deal to-day, Chris," I
+said.
+
+"I told her lots," said Chris, complacently. "She didn't tell me
+nothing, hardly. But I told her lots. My apple fritter got cold whilst
+I was telling it. She sent it away, and had two hot ones, new, on
+purpose for me."
+
+"What _did_ you tell her!"
+
+"I told her your story; she liked it very much. And I told her
+Daffodils, and about my birthday; and I told her Cowslips--all of
+them. Oh, I told her lots. She didn't tell me nothing."
+
+A few days later, Aunt Catherine asked us to tea--all of us--me,
+Arthur, Adela, Harry, and Chris. And she asked us all about our game.
+When Harry said, "I dig up, but Mary plants--not in our garden, but in
+wild places, and woods, and hedges, and fields," Lady Catherine blew
+her nose very loud, and said, "I should think you don't do much
+digging and planting in that field your Father went to law about?" and
+my teeth chattered so with fright that I think Lady Catherine would
+have heard them if she hadn't been blowing her nose. But, luckily for
+me, Arthur said, "Oh, we never go near Mary's Meadow, now, we're so
+busy." And then Aunt Catherine asked what made us think of my name,
+and I repeated most of the bit from Alphonse Karr, for I knew it by
+heart now; and Arthur repeated what John Parkinson says about the
+"Honisuckle that groweth wild in every hedge," and how he left it
+there, "to serve their senses that travel by it, or have no garden;"
+and then he said, "So Mary is called Traveller's Joy, because she
+plants flowers in the hedges, to serve their senses that travel by
+them."
+
+"And who serves them that have no garden?" asked Aunt Catherine,
+sticking her gold glasses over her nose, and looking at us.
+
+"None of us do," said Arthur, after thinking for a minute.
+
+"Humph!" said Aunt Catherine.
+
+Next time Chris was asked to luncheon, I was asked too. Father laughed
+at me, and teased me, but I went.
+
+I was very much amused by the airs which Chris gave himself at table.
+He was perfectly well behaved, but, in his quiet, old-fashioned way,
+he certainly gave himself airs. We have only one man indoors--James;
+but Aunt Catherine has three--a butler, a footman, and a second
+footman. The second footman kept near Christopher, who sat opposite
+Aunt Catherine, (she made me sit on one side), and seemed to watch to
+attend upon him; but if Christopher did want anything, he always
+ignored this man, and asked the butler for it, and called him by his
+name.
+
+After a bit, Aunt Catherine began to talk about the game again.
+
+"Have you got anyone to serve them that have no garden, yet?" she
+asked.
+
+Christopher shook his head, and said "No."
+
+"Humph," said Aunt Catherine; "better take me into the game."
+
+"Could you be of any use?" asked Christopher. "Toast and water,
+Chambers."
+
+The butler nodded, as majestically as Chris himself, to the second
+footman, who flew to replenish the silver mug, which had been Lady
+Catherine's when she was a little girl. When Christopher had drained
+it (he is a very thirsty boy), he repeated the question.
+
+"Do you think you could be of any use?"
+
+Mr. Chambers, the butler, never seems to hear anything that people
+say, except when they ask for something to eat or drink; and he does
+not often hear that, because he watches to see what you want, and
+gives it of himself, or sends it by the footman. He looks just as if
+he was having his photograph taken, staring at a point on the wall and
+thinking of nothing; but when Christopher repeated his question I saw
+Chambers frown, I believe he thinks Christopher presumes on Lady
+Catherine's kindness, and does not approve of it.
+
+It is quite the other way with Aunt Catherine. Just when you would
+think she must turn angry, and scold Chris for being rude, she only
+begins to laugh, and shakes like a jelly (she is very stout) and
+encourages him. She said,
+
+"Take care all that toast and water doesn't get into your head,
+Chris."
+
+She said that to vex him, because, ever since he heard that he had
+water on the brain, Chris is very easily affronted about his head. He
+was affronted now, and began to eat his bread-and-butter pudding in
+silence, Lady Catherine still shaking and laughing. Then she wiped her
+eyes, and said,
+
+"Never mind, old man, I'm going to tell you something. Put the sugar
+and cream on the table, Chambers, and you needn't wait."
+
+The men went out quietly, and Aunt Catherine went on:
+
+"Where do you think I was yesterday? In the new barracks--a place I
+set my face against ever since they began to build it, and spoil one
+of my best peeps from the Rhododendron Walk. I went to see a young
+cousin of mine, who was fool enough to marry a poor officer, and have
+a lot of little boys and girls, no handsomer than you, Chris."
+
+"Are they as handsome?" said Chris, who had recovered himself, and was
+selecting currants from his pudding, and laying them aside for a final
+_bonne bouche_.
+
+"Humph! Perhaps not. But they eat so much pudding, and wear out so
+many boots, that they are all too poor to live anywhere except in
+barracks."
+
+Christopher laid down his spoon, and looked as he always looks when he
+is hearing a sad story.
+
+"Is barracks like the workhouse, Aunt Catherine?" he asked.
+
+"A good deal like the workhouse," said Aunt Catherine. Then she went
+on--"I told her Mother I could not begin calling at the barracks.
+There are some very low streets close by, and my coachman said he
+couldn't answer for his horses with bugles, and perhaps guns, going
+off when you least expect them. I told her I would ask them to dinner;
+and I did, but they were engaged. Well, yesterday I changed my mind,
+and I told Harness that I meant to go to the barracks, and the horses
+would have to take me. So we started. When we were going along the
+upper road, between the high hedges, what do you think I saw?"
+
+Chris had been going on with his pudding again, but he paused to make
+a guess.
+
+"A large cannon, just going off?"
+
+"No. If I'd seen that, you wouldn't have seen any more of me. I saw
+masses of wild clematis scrambling everywhere, so that the hedge
+looked as if somebody had been dressing it up in tufts of feathers."
+
+As she said this, Lady Catherine held out her hand to me across the
+table very kindly. She has a fat hand, covered with rings, and I put
+my hand into it.
+
+"And what do you think came into my head?" she asked.
+
+"Toast and water," said Chris, maliciously.
+
+"No, you monkey. I began to think of hedge-flowers, and travellers,
+and Traveller's Joy."
+
+Aunt Catherine shook my hand here, and dropped it.
+
+"And you thought how nice it was for the poor travellers to have such
+nice flowers," said Chris, smiling, and wagging his head up and down.
+
+"Nothing of the kind," said Aunt Catherine, brusquely. "I thought what
+lots of flowers the travellers had already, without Mary planting any
+more; and I thought not one traveller in a dozen paid much attention
+to them--begging John Parkinson's pardon--and how much more in want of
+flowers people 'that have no garden' are; and then I thought of that
+poor girl in those bare barracks, whose old home was one of the
+prettiest places, with the loveliest garden, in all Berkshire."
+
+"Was it an Earthly Paradise?" asked Chris.
+
+"It was, indeed. Well, when I thought of her inside those brick walls,
+looking out on one of those yards they march about in, now they've cut
+down all the trees, and planted sentry boxes, I put my best bonnet out
+of the window, which always spoils the feather, and told Harness to
+turn his horses' heads, and drive home again."
+
+"What for?" said Chris, as brusquely as Lady Catherine.
+
+"I sent for Hobbs."
+
+"Hobbs the Gardener?" said Chris.
+
+"Hobbs the Gardener; and I told Chambers to give him the basket from
+the second peg, and then I sent him into the conservatory to fill it.
+Mary, my dear, I am very particular about my baskets. If ever I lend
+you my diamonds, and you lose them, I may forgive you--I shall know
+_that_ was an accident; but if I lend you a basket, and you don't
+return it, don't look me in the face again. I always write my name on
+them, so there's no excuse. And I don't know a greater piece of
+impudence--and people are wonderfully impudent now-a-days--than to
+think that because a thing only cost fourpence, you need not be at the
+trouble of keeping it clean and dry, and of sending it back."
+
+"Some more toast and water please," said Chris.
+
+Aunt Catherine helped him, and continued--"Hobbs is a careful man--he
+has been with me ten years--he doesn't cut flowers recklessly as a
+rule, but when I saw that basket I said, 'Hobbs, you've been very
+extravagant.' He looked ashamed of himself, but he said, 'I understood
+they was for Miss Kitty, m'm. She's been used to nice gardens, m'm.'
+Hobbs lived with them in Berkshire before he came to me."
+
+"It was very nice of Hobbs," said Chris, emphatically.
+
+"Humph!" said Aunt Catherine, "the flowers were mine."
+
+"Did you ever get to the barracks?" asked Chris, "and what was they
+like when you did?"
+
+"They were about as unlike Kitty's old home as anything could well be,
+She has made her rooms pretty enough, but it was easy to see she is
+hard up for flowers. She's got an old rose-colored Sevres bowl that
+was my Grandmother's, and there it was, filled with bramble leaves and
+Traveller's Joy, (which _she_ calls Old Man's Beard; Kitty always
+would differ from her elders!) and a soup-plate full of
+forget-me-nots. She said two of the children had half-drowned
+themselves, and lost a good straw hat in getting them for her. Just
+like their mother, as I told her."
+
+"What did she say when you brought out the basket?" asked Chris,
+disposing of his reserve of currants at one mouthful, and laying down
+his spoon.
+
+"She said, 'Oh! oh! oh!' till I told her to say something more
+amusing, and then she said, 'I could cry for joy!' and, 'Tell Hobbs he
+remembers all my favorites.'"
+
+Christopher here bent his head over his empty plate, and said grace
+(Chris is very particular about his grace), and then got down from his
+chair and went up to Lady Catherine, and threw his arms round her as
+far as they would go, saying, "You are good. And I love you. I should
+think she thinked you was a fairy godmother."
+
+After they had hugged each other, Aunt Catherine said, "Will you take
+me into the game, if I serve them that have no garden?"
+
+Chris and I said "Yes" with one voice.
+
+"Then come into the drawing-room," said Aunt Catherine, getting up and
+giving a hand to each of us. "And Chris shall give me a name."
+
+Chris pondered a long time on this subject, and seemed a good deal
+disturbed in his mind. Presently he said, "I _won't_ be selfish. You
+shall have it."
+
+"Shall have what, you oddity?"
+
+"I'm not an oddity, and I'm going to give you the name I invented for
+myself. But you'll have to wear four stockings, two up and two down."
+
+"Then you may keep _that_ name to yourself," said Aunt Catherine.
+
+Christopher looked relieved.
+
+"Perhaps you'd not like to be called Old Man's Beard?"
+
+"Certainly not!" said Aunt Catherine.
+
+"It _is_ more of a boy's name," said Chris. "You might be the
+Franticke or Foolish Cowslip, but it is Jack an Apes on Horseback too,
+and that's a boy's name. You shall be a Daffodil, not a dwarf
+daffodil, but a big one, because you are big. Wait a minute--I know
+which you shall be. You shall be Nonsuch. It's a very big one, and it
+means none like it. So you shall be Nonsuch, for there's no one like
+you."
+
+On which Christopher and Lady Catherine hugged each other afresh.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+"Who told most to-day?" asked Father when we got home.
+
+"Oh, Aunt Catherine. Much most," said Christopher.
+
+
+CHAPTER XI.
+
+
+The height of our game was in Autumn. It is such a good time for
+digging up, and planting, and dividing, and making cuttings, and
+gathering seeds, and sowing them too. But it went by very quickly,
+and when the leaves began to fall they fell very quickly, and Arthur
+never had to go up the trees and shake them.
+
+After the first hard frost we quite gave up playing at the Earthly
+Paradise; first, because there was nothing we could do, and, secondly,
+because a lot of snow fell, and Arthur had a grand idea of making snow
+statues all along the terrace, so that Mother could see them from the
+drawing-room windows. We worked very hard, and it was very difficult
+to manage legs without breaking; so we made most of them Romans in
+togas, and they looked very well from a distance, and lasted a long
+time, because the frost lasted.
+
+And, by degrees, I almost forgot that terrible afternoon in Mary's
+Meadow. Only when Saxon came to see us I told him that I was very glad
+that no one understood his bark, so that he could not let out what had
+become of the hose-in-hose.
+
+But when the winter was past, and the snowdrops came out in the
+shrubbery, and there were catkins on the nut trees, and the missel
+thrush we had been feeding in the frost sat out on mild days and sang
+to us, we all of us began to think of our gardens again, and to go
+poking about "with our noses in the borders," as Arthur said, "as if
+we were dogs snuffing after truffles." What we really were "snuffing
+after" were the plants we had planted in autumn, and which were poking
+and sprouting, and coming up in all directions.
+
+Arthur and Harry did real gardening in the Easter holidays, and they
+captured Adela now and then, and made her weed. But Christopher's
+delight was to go with me to the waste places and hedges, where I had
+planted things as Traveller's Joy, and to get me to show them to him
+where they had begun to make a spring start, and to help him to make
+up rambling stories, which he called "Supposings," of what the flowers
+would be like, and what this or that traveller would say when he saw
+them. One of his favorite _supposings_ was--"Supposing a very poor man
+was coming along the road, with his dinner in a handkerchief; and
+supposing he sat down under the hedge to eat it; and supposing it was
+cold beef, and he had no mustard; and supposing there was a seed on
+your nasturtium plants, and he knew it wouldn't poison him; and
+supposing he ate it with his beef, and it tasted nice and hot, like a
+pickle, wouldn't he wonder how it got there?"
+
+But when the primroses had been out a long time, and the cowslips were
+coming into bloom, to my horror Christopher began "supposing" that we
+should find hose-in-hose in some of the fields, and all my efforts to
+put this idea out of his head, and to divert him from the search, were
+utterly in vain.
+
+Whether it had anything to do with his having had water on the brain I
+do not know, but when once an idea got into Christopher's head there
+was no dislodging it. He now talked of hose-in-hose constantly. One
+day he announced that he was "discontented" once more, and should
+remain so till he had "found a hose-in-hose." I enticed him to a field
+where I knew it was possible to secure an occasional oxlip, but he
+only looked pale, shook his head distressingly, and said, "I don't
+think nothin' of Oxlips." Colored primroses would not comfort him. He
+professed to disbelieve in the time-honored prescription, "Plant a
+primrose upside down, and it will come up a polyanthus," and refused
+to help me to make the experiment. At last the worst came. He suddenly
+spoke, with smiles--"I _know_ where we'll find hose-in-hose! In Mary's
+Meadow. It's the fullest field of cowslips there is. Hurrah! Supposing
+we find hose-in-hose, and supposing we find green cowslips, and
+supposing we find curled cowslips or galligaskins, and supposing----"
+
+But I could not bear it. I fairly ran away from him, and shut myself
+up in my room and cried. I knew it was silly, and yet I could not bear
+the thought of having to satisfy everybody's curiosity, and describe
+that scene in Mary's Meadow, which had wounded me so bitterly, and
+explain why I had not told of it before.
+
+I cried, too, for another reason. Mary's Meadow had been dear to us
+all, ever since I could remember. It was always our favorite field. We
+had coaxed our nurses there, when we could induce them to leave the
+high road, or when, luckily for us, on account of an epidemic, or for
+some reason or another, they were forbidden to go gossiping into the
+town. We had "pretended" fairies in the nooks of the delightfully
+neglected hedges, and we had found fairy-rings to prove our
+pretendings true. We went there for flowers; we went there for
+mushrooms and puff-balls; we went there to hear the nightingale. What
+cowslip balls, and what cowslip tea-parties it had afforded us. It is
+fair to the Old Squire to say that we were sad trespassers, before he
+and Father quarrelled and went to law. For Mary's Meadow was a field
+with every quality to recommend it to childish affections.
+
+And now I was banished from it, not only by the quarrel, of which we
+had really not heard much, or realised it as fully, but by my own
+bitter memories. I cried afresh to think I should never go again to
+the corner where I always found the earliest violets; and then I cried
+to think that the nightingale would soon be back, and how that very
+morning, when I opened my window, I had heard the cuckoo, and could
+tell that he was calling from just about Mary's Meadow.
+
+I cried my eyes into such a state, that I was obliged to turn my
+attention to making them fit to be seen; and I had spent quite half an
+hour in bathing them and breathing on my handkerchief, and dabbing
+them, which is more soothing, when I heard Mother calling me. I
+winked hard, drew a few long breaths, rubbed my cheeks, which were so
+white they showed up my red eyes, and ran downstairs. Mother was
+coming to meet me. She said--"Where is Christopher?"
+
+It startled me. I said, "He was with me in the garden, about--oh,
+about an hour ago; have you lost him? I'll go and look for him."
+
+And I snatched up a garden hat, which shaded my swollen eyelids, and
+ran out. I could not find him anywhere, and becoming frightened, I ran
+down the drive, calling him as I went, and through the gate, and out
+into the road.
+
+A few yards farther on I met him.
+
+That child is most extraordinary. One minute he looks like a ghost; an
+hour later his face is beaming with a radiance that seems absolutely
+to fatten him under your eyes. That was how he looked just then as he
+came towards me, smiling in an effulgent sort of way, as if he were
+the noonday sun--no less, and carrying a small nosegay in his hand.
+
+When he came within hearing he boasted, as if he had been Cæsar
+himself.
+
+"I went; I found it. I've got them."
+
+And as he held his hand up, and waved the nosegay--I knew all. He had
+been to Mary's Meadow, and the flowers between his fingers were
+hose-in-hose.
+
+
+CHAPTER XII
+
+
+"I won't be selfish, Mary," Christopher said. "You invented the game,
+and you told me about them. You shall have them in water on your
+dressing-table; they might get lost in the nursery. Bessy is always
+throwing things out. To-morrow I shall go and look for galligaskins."
+
+I was too glad to keep them from Bessy's observation, as well as her
+unparalleled powers of destruction, which I knew well. I put them into
+a slim glass on my table, and looked stupidly at them, and then out of
+the window at Mary's Meadow.
+
+So they had lived--and grown--and settled there--and were now in
+bloom. _My_ plants.
+
+Next morning I was sitting, drawing, in the school-room window, when I
+saw the Old Squire coming up the drive. There is no mistaking him when
+you can see him at all. He is a big, handsome old man, with white
+whiskers, and a white hat, and white gaiters, and he generally wears a
+light coat, and a flower in his button-hole. The flower he wore this
+morning looked like----, but I was angry with myself for thinking of
+it, and went on drawing again, as well as I could, for I could not
+help wondering why he was coming to our house. Then it struck me he
+might have seen Chris trespassing, and he might be coming at last to
+lay a formal complaint.
+
+Twenty minutes later James came to tell me that Father wished to see
+me in the library, and when I got there, Father was just settling his
+eye-glass in his eye, and the Old Squire was standing on the
+hearth-rug, with a big piece of paper in his hand. And then I saw that
+I was right, and that the flowers in his button-hole were
+hose-in-hose.
+
+As I came in he laid down the paper, took the hose-in-hose out of his
+button-hole in his left hand, and held out his right hand to me,
+saying: "I'm more accustomed to public speaking than to private
+speaking, Miss Mary. But----will you be friends with me?"
+
+In Mary's Meadow my head had got all confused, because I was
+frightened. I was not frightened to-day, and I saw the whole matter in
+a moment. He had found the double cowslips, and he knew now that I was
+neither a liar nor a thief. I was glad, but I could not feel very
+friendly to him. I said, "You can speak when you are angry."
+
+Though he was behind me, I could feel Father coming nearer, and I knew
+somehow that he had taken out his glass again to rub it and put it
+back, as he does when he is rather surprised or amused. I was afraid
+he meant to laugh at me afterwards, and he can tease terribly, but I
+could not have helped saying what came into my head that morning if I
+had tried. When you have suffered a great deal about anything, you
+cannot sham, not even politeness.
+
+The Old Squire got rather red. Then he said, "I am afraid I am very
+hasty, my dear, and say very unjustifiable things. But I am very
+sorry, and I beg your pardon. Will you forgive me?"
+
+I said, "Of course, if you're sorry, I forgive you, but you have been
+a very long time in repenting."
+
+Which was true. If I had been cross with one of the others, and had
+borne malice for five months, I should have thought myself very
+wicked. But when I had said it, I felt sorry, for the old gentleman
+made no answer. Father did not speak either, and I began to feel very
+miserable. I touched the flowers, and the Old Squire gave them to me
+in silence. I thanked him very much, and then I said--
+
+"I am very glad you know about it now.... I'm very glad they lived....
+I hope you like them? ... I hope, if you do like them, that they'll
+grow and spread all over your field."
+
+The Old Squire spoke at last. He said, "It is not my field any
+longer."
+
+I said, "Oh, why?"
+
+"I have given it away; I have been a long time in repenting, but when
+I did repent I punished myself. I have given it away."
+
+It overwhelmed me, and when he took up the big paper again, I thought
+he was going, and I tried to stop him, for I was sorry I had spoken
+unkindly to him, and I wanted to be friends.
+
+"Please don't go," I said. "Please stop and be friends. And oh,
+please, please don't give Mary's Meadow away. You mustn't punish
+yourself. There's nothing to punish yourself for. I forgive you with
+all my heart, and I'm sorry I spoke crossly. I have been so very
+miserable, and I was so vexed at wasting the hose-in-hose, because
+Bessie's great aunt gave them to me, and I've none left. Oh, the
+unkindest thing you could do to me now would be to give away Mary's
+Meadow."
+
+The Old Squire had taken both my hands in his, and now he asked very
+kindly--"Why, my dear, why don't you want me to give away Mary's
+Meadow?"
+
+"Because we are so fond of it. And because I was beginning to hope
+that now we're friends, and you know we don't want to steal your
+things, or to hurt your field, perhaps you would let us play in it
+sometimes, and perhaps have Saxon to play with us there. We are so
+very fond of him too."
+
+"You are fond of Mary's Meadow?" said the Old Squire.
+
+"Yes, yes! We have been fond of it all our lives. We don't think there
+is any field like it, and I don't believe there can be. Don't give it
+away. You'll never get one with such flowers in it again. And now
+there are hose-in-hose, and they are not at all common. Bessy's aunt's
+aunt has only got one left, and she's taking care of it with a shovel.
+And if you'll let us in we'll plant a lot of things, and do no harm,
+we will indeed. And the nightingale will be here directly. Oh, don't
+give it away!"
+
+My head was whirling now with the difficulty of persuading him, and I
+did not hear what he said across me to my father. But I heard Father's
+reply--"Tell her yourself, sir."
+
+On which the Old Squire stuffed the big paper into my arms, and put
+his hand on my head and patted it.
+
+"I told you I was a bad hand at talking, my dear," he said, "but
+Mary's Meadow is given away, and that's the Deed of Gift which you've
+got in your arms, drawn up as tight as any rascal of a lawyer can do
+it, and that's not so tight, I believe, but what some other rascal of
+a lawyer could undo it. However, they may let you alone. For I've
+given it to you, my dear, and it is yours. So you can plant, and play,
+and do what you please there. 'You, and your heirs and assigns, for
+ever,' as the rascals say."
+
+It was my turn now to be speechless. But as I stared blankly in front
+of me, I saw that Father had come round, and was looking at me through
+his eye-glass. He nodded to me, and said, "Yes, Mary, the Squire has
+given Mary's Meadow to you, and it is yours."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Nothing would induce the Old Squire to take it back, so I had to have
+it, for my very own. He said he had always been sorry he had spoken so
+roughly to me, but he could not say so, as he and Father were not on
+speaking terms. Just lately he was dining with Lady Catherine, to meet
+her cousins from the Barracks, and she was telling people after dinner
+about our game (rather mean of her, I think, to let out our secrets at
+a dinner party), and when he heard about my planting things in the
+hedges, he remembered what I had said. And next day he went to the
+place to look, and there were the hose-in-hose.
+
+Oh, how delighted the others were when they heard that Mary's Meadow
+belonged to me.
+
+"It's like having an Earthly Paradise given to you, straight off!"
+said Harry.
+
+"And one that doesn't want weeding," said Adela.
+
+"And oh, Mary, Mary!" cried Arthur. "Think of the yards and yards of
+top-spit. It does rejoice me to think I can go to you now when I'm making
+compost, and need not be beholden to that old sell-up-your-grandfather John
+for as much as would fill Adela's weeding basket, and that's about as small
+an article as anyone can make-believe with."
+
+"It's very heavy when it's full," said Adela.
+
+"Is everything hers?" asked Christopher. "Is the grass hers, and the
+trees hers, and the hedges hers, and the rooks hers, and the starling
+hers, and will the nightingale be hers when he comes home, and if she
+could dig through to the other side of the world, would there be a
+field the same size in Australia that would be hers, and are the sheep
+hers, and----"
+
+"For mercy's sake stop that catalogue, Chris," said Father. "Of course
+the sheep are not hers; they were moved yesterday. By-the-bye, Mary, I
+don't know what you propose to do with your property, but if you like
+to let it to me, I'll turn some sheep in to-morrow, and I'll pay you
+so much a year, which I advise you to put in the Post Office Savings'
+Bank."
+
+I couldn't fancy Mary's Meadow always without sheep, so I was too
+thankful; though at first I could not see that it was fair that dear
+Father should let me have his sheep to look pretty in my field for
+nothing, and pay me, too. He is always teasing me about my field, and
+he teases me a good deal about the Squire, too. He says we have set up
+another queer friendship in the family, and that the Old Squire and I
+are as odd a pair as Aunt Catherine and Chris.
+
+I am very fond of the Old Squire now, and he is very kind to me. He
+wants to give me Saxon, but I will not accept him. It would be
+selfish. But the Old Squire says I had better take him, for we have
+quite spoilt him for a yard dog by petting him, till he has not a bit
+of savageness left in him. We do not believe Saxon ever was savage;
+but I daren't say so to the Old Squire, for he does not like you to
+think you know better than he does about anything. There is one other
+subject on which he expects to be humored, and I am careful not to
+offend him. He cannot tolerate the idea that he might be supposed to
+have yielded to Father the point about which they went to law, in
+giving Mary's Meadow to me. He is always lecturing me on
+encroachments, and the abuse of privileges, and warning me to be very
+strict about trespassers on the path through Mary's Meadow; and now
+that the field is mine, nothing will induce him to walk in it without
+asking my leave. That is his protest against the decision from which
+he meant to appeal.
+
+Though I have not accepted Saxon, he spends most of his time with us.
+He likes to come for the night, because he sleeps on the floor of my
+room, instead of in a kennel, which must be horrid, I am sure.
+Yesterday, the Old Squire said, "One of these fine days, when Master
+Saxon does not come home till morning, he'll find a big mastiff in his
+kennel, and will have to seek a home for himself where he can."
+
+Chris has been rather whimsical lately. Father says Lady Catherine
+spoils him. One day he came to me looking very peevish, and said,
+"Mary, if a hedgehog should come and live in one of your hedges,
+Michael says he would be yours, he's sure. If Michael finds him, will
+you give him to me?"
+
+"Yes, Chris; but what do you want with a hedgehog?"
+
+"I want him to sleep by my bed," said Chris. "You have Saxon by your
+bed; I want something by mine. I want a hedgehog. I feel discontented
+without a hedgehog. I think I might have some thing the matter with my
+brain if I didn't get a hedgehog pretty soon. Can I go with Michael
+and look for him this afternoon?" and he put his hand to his forehead.
+
+"Chris, Chris!" I said, "you should not be so sly. You're a real
+slyboots. Double-stockings and slyboots." And I took him on my lap.
+
+Chris put his arms round my neck, and buried his cheek against mine.
+
+"I won't be sly, Mary," he whispered; and then, hugging me as he hugs
+Lady Catherine, he added, "For I do love you; for you are a darling,
+and I do really think it always was yours."
+
+"What, Chris?"
+
+"If not," said Chris, "why was it always called MARY'S MEADOW?"
+
+     NOTE.--If any readers of "Mary's Meadow" have been as completely
+     puzzled as the writer was by the title of John Parkinson's old
+     book, it may interest them to know that the question has been
+     raised and answered in _Notes and Queries_.
+
+     I first saw the _Paradisi in sole Paradisus terrestris_ at Kew,
+     some years ago, and was much bewitched by its quaint charm. I
+     grieve to say that I do not possess it; but an old friend and
+     florist--the Rev. H. T. Ellacombe--was good enough to lend me his
+     copy for reference, and to him I wrote for the meaning of the
+     title. But his scholarship, and that of other learned friends,
+     was quite at fault. My old friend's youthful energies (he will
+     permit me to say that he is ninety-four) were not satisfied to
+     rust in ignorance, and he wrote to _Notes and Queries_ on the
+     subject, and has been twice answered. It is an absurd play upon
+     words, after the fashion of John Parkinson's day. Paradise, as
+     AUNT-JUDY'S readers may know, is originally an Eastern word,
+     meaning a park, or pleasure ground. I am ashamed to say that the
+     knowledge of this fact did not help me to the pun. _Paradisi in
+     sole Paradisus terrestris_ means Park--in--son's Earthly
+     Paradise!
+
+J. H. E., _February_, 1884.
+
+
+
+
+LETTERS FROM A LITTLE GARDEN.
+
+LETTER I.
+
+"All is fine that is fit."--_Old Proverb._
+
+
+DEAR LITTLE FRIEND,
+
+When, with the touching confidence of youth that your elders have
+made-up as well as grown-up minds on all subjects, you asked my
+opinion on _Ribbon-gardening_, the above proverb came into my head, to
+the relief of its natural tendency to see an inconvenient number of
+sides to every question. The more I reflect upon it, the more I am
+convinced it is a comfortably compact confession of my faith on all
+matters decorative, and thence on the decoration of gardens.
+
+I take some credit to myself for having the courage of my moderation,
+since you obviously expect a more sweeping reply. The bedding-out
+system is in bad odor just now; and you ask, "Wasn't it hideous?" and
+"Wasn't it hateful?" and "Will it ever come into fashion again, to the
+re-extermination of the dear old-fashioned flowers which we are now
+slowly, and with pains, recalling from banishment?"
+
+To discover one's own deliberate opinion upon a subject is not always
+easy--prophetic opinions one must refuse to offer. But I feel no doubt
+whatever that the good lady who shall coddle this little garden at
+some distant date after me will be quite as fond of her borders as I
+am of mine; and I suspect that these will be about as like each other
+as our respective best bonnets.
+
+The annals of Fashion must always be full of funny stories. I know two
+of the best amateur gardeners of the day; they are father and son. The
+father, living _and gardening_ still (he sent me a specimen lily
+lately by parcel post, and is beholden to no one for help, either with
+packing or addressing, in his constant use of this new convenience),
+is making good way between ninety and a hundred years of age. What we
+call old-fashioned flowers were the pets of his youth. About the time
+when ribbon-bordering "came in," he changed his residence, and, in the
+garden where he had cultivated countless kinds of perennials, his son
+reigned in his stead. The horticultural taste proved hereditary, but
+in the younger man it took the impress of the fashion of his day. Away
+went the "herbaceous stuff" on to rubbish heaps, and the borders were
+soon gay with geraniums, and kaleidoscopic with calceolarias. But "the
+whirligig of Time brings in his revenges," and, perhaps, a real love
+for flowers could never, in the nature of things, have been finally
+satisfied by the dozen or by the score; so it came to pass that the
+garden is once more herbaceous, and far-famed as such. The father--a
+_perennial_ gardener in more senses than one, long may he
+flourish!--has told me, chuckling, of many a penitential pilgrimage to
+the rubbish-heaps, if haply fragments could be found of the herbaceous
+treasures which had been so rashly cast away.
+
+Doubtless there were many restorations. Abandoned "bedding stuff" soon
+perishes, but uprooted clumps of "herbaceous stuff" linger long in
+shady corners, and will sometimes flower pathetically on the heap
+where they have been thrown to rot.
+
+I once saw a fine "Queen Anne" country house--an old one; not a modern
+imitation. Chippendale had made the furniture. He had worked in the
+house. Whether the chairs and tables were beautiful or not is a matter
+of taste, but they were well made and seasoned; so, like the
+herbaceous stuff, they were hardy. The next generation decided that
+they were ugly. New chairs and tables were bought, and the Chippendale
+"stuff" was sent up into the maids' bedrooms, and down to the men's.
+It drifted into the farmhouses and cottages on the estate. No doubt, a
+good deal was destroyed. The caprices of fashion are not confined to
+one class, and the lower classes are the more prodigal and
+destructive. I have seen the remains of Elizabethan bedsteads under
+hayricks, and untold "old oak" has fed the cottage fire. I once asked
+a village maiden why the people made firewood of carved armchairs,
+when painted pinewood, upholstered in American cloth, is, if lovelier,
+not so lasting. Her reply was--"They get stalled on[3] 'em." And she
+added: "Maybe a man 'll look at an old arm chair that's stood on t'
+hearth-place as long as he can remember, and he'll say--'I'm fair sick
+o' t' seet o' _yon_. We mun have a new 'un for t' Feast. _I'l chop
+thee oop!_'"
+
+[Footnote 3: "Stalled on"--tired of. "T' feast"--the village feast, an
+annual festival and fair, for which most houses in that district are
+cleaned within and whitewashed without.]
+
+Possibly some of the Chippendale chairs also fell to the hatchet and
+fed the flames, but most of them bore neglect as well as hardy
+perennials, and when Queen Anne houses and "Old Chips" came into
+fashion again, there was routing and rummaging from attic to cellar,
+in farmhouse and cottage, and the banished furniture went triumphantly
+back to its own place.
+
+I first saw single dahlias in some "little gardens" in Cheshire, five
+or six years ago. No others had ever been cultivated there. In these
+quiet nooks the double dahlia was still a new-fangled flower. If the
+single dahlias yet hold their own, those little gardens must now find
+themselves in the height of the floral fashion, with the unusual luck
+of the conservative old woman who "wore her bonnet till the fashions
+came round again."
+
+It is such little gardens which have kept for us the Blue Primrose, the
+highly fragrant Summer Roses (including Rose de Meaux, and the red and
+copper Briar), countless beautiful varieties of Daffy-down-dillies, and
+all the host of sweet, various and hardy flowers which are now
+returning, like the Chippendale chairs, from the village to the hall.
+
+It is still in cottage gardens chiefly that the Crown Imperial hangs
+its royal head. One may buy small sheaves of it in the Taunton
+market-place on early summer Saturdays. What a stately flower it is!
+and, in the paler variety of what an exquisite yellow! I always fancy
+_Fritillaria Imperialis flava_ to be dressed in silk from the Flowery
+Land--that robe of imperial yellow which only General Gordon and the
+blood royal of China are entitled to wear!
+
+"All is fine that is fit." And is the "bedding-out"
+system--Ribbon-gardening--ever fit, and therefore ever fine? My little
+friend, I am inclined to think that it sometimes is. For long straight
+borders in parks and public promenades, for some terrace gardens on a
+large scale, viewed perhaps from windows at a considerable distance,
+and in a general way for pleasure grounds, ordered by professional
+skill, and not by an _amateur_ gardener (which, mark you, being
+interpreted, is gardener _for love!_), the bedding-out style is good
+for general effect, and I think it is capable of prettier ingenuities
+than one often sees employed in its use. I think that, if I ever
+gardened in this expensive and mechanical style, I should make
+"arrangements," à la Whistler, with flowers of various shades of the
+same color. But harmony and gradation of color always give me more
+pleasure than contrast.
+
+Then, besides the fitness of the gardening to the garden, there is the
+fitness of the garden to its owner; and the owner must be considered
+from two points of view, his taste and his means. Indeed, I think it
+would be fair to add a third, his leisure.
+
+Now, there are owners of big gardens and little gardens, who like to
+have a garden (what Englishman does not?) and like to see it gay and
+tidy, but who don't know one flower from the rest. On the other hand,
+some scientists are acquainted with botany and learned in
+horticulture. They know every plant and its value, but they care
+little about tidiness. Cut flowers are feminine frivolities in their
+eyes, and they count nosegays as childish gauds, like daisy chains and
+cowslip balls. They are not curious in colors, and do not know which
+flowers are fragrant and which are scentless. For them every garden is
+a botanical garden. Then, many persons fully appreciate the beauty and
+the scent of flowers, and enjoy selecting and arranging them for a
+room, who can't abide to handle a fork or meddle with mother earth.
+
+Others again, amongst whom I number myself, love not only the lore of
+flowers, and the sight of them, and the fragrance of them, and the
+growing of them, and the picking of them, and the arranging of them,
+but also inherit from Father Adam a natural relish for tilling the
+ground from whence they were taken and to which they shall return.
+
+With little persons in little gardens, having also little strength and
+little leisure, this husbandry may not exceed the small uses of fork
+and trowel, but the earth-love is there, all the same. I remember
+once, coming among some family papers, upon an old letter from my
+grandmother to my grandfather. She was a clever girl (she did not
+outlive her youth), and the letter was natural and full of energy and
+point. My grandfather seems to have apologized to his bride for the
+disorderly state of the garden to which she was about to go home, and
+in reply she quaintly and vehemently congratulates herself upon this
+unpromising fact. For----"I do so dearly love _grubbing_." This
+touches another point. She was a botanist, and painted a little. So
+were most of the lady gardeners of her youth. The education of women
+was, as a rule, poor enough in those days; but a study of "the Linnean
+system" was among the elegant accomplishments held to "become a young
+woman;" and one may feel pretty sure that even a smattering of
+botanical knowledge, and the observation needed for third or
+fourth-rate flower-painting, would tend to a love of variety in beds
+and borders which Ribbon-gardening would by no means satisfy. _Lobelia
+erinus speciosa_ does make a wonderfully smooth blue stripe in
+sufficient quantities, but that would not console any one who knew or
+had painted _Lobelia cardinalis_, and _fulgens_ for the banishment of
+these from the garden.
+
+I think we may dismiss Ribbon-gardening as unfit for a botanist, or
+for any one who happens to like _grubbing_, or tending his flowers.
+
+Is it ever "fit" in a little garden?
+
+Well, if the owner has either no taste for gardening, or no time, it
+may be the shortest and brightest plan to get some nurseryman near to
+fill the little beds and borders with spring bedding plants for spring
+(and let me note that this _spring bedding_, which is of later date
+than the first rage for ribbon-borders, had to draw its supplies very
+largely from "herbaceous stuff" _myosotis_, _viola_, _aubretia_,
+_iberis_, &c., and may have paved the way for the return of hardy
+perennials into favor), and with Tom Thumb Geranium, Blue Lobelia, and
+Yellow Calceolaria for the summer and autumn. These latter are most
+charming plants. They are very gay and persistent whilst they last,
+and it is not their fault that they cannot stand our winters. They are
+no invalids till frost comes. With my personal predilections, I like
+even "bedding stuff" best in variety. The varieties of what we call
+geraniums are many and most beautiful. I should always prefer a group
+of individual specimens to a band of one. And never have I seen the
+canary yellow of calceolarias to such advantage as in an
+"old-fashioned" rectory-garden in Yorkshire, where they were cunningly
+used as points of brilliancy at corners of beds mostly filled with
+"hardy herbaceous stuff."
+
+But there, again, one begins to spend time and taste! Let us admit
+that, if a little garden must be made gay by the neighboring
+nurseryman, it will look very bright, on the "ribbon" system, at a
+minimum cost of time and trouble--_but not of money!_
+
+Even for a little garden, bedding plants are very expensive. For you
+must either use plenty, or leave it alone. A ragged ribbon-border can
+have no admirers.
+
+If time and money are both lacking, and horticulture is not a hobby,
+divide what sum you are prepared to spend on your little garden in
+two. Lay out half in making good soil, and spend the rest on a limited
+range of hardy plants. If mother earth is well fed, and if you have
+got her _deep down_, and not a surface layer of half a foot on a
+substratum of builder's rubbish, she will take care of every plant you
+commit to her hold. I should give up the back of the borders (if the
+aspect is east or south) to a few very good "perpetual" roses to cut
+from; dwarfs, not standards; and for the line of color in front it
+will be no great trouble to arrange roughly to have red, white, blue,
+and yellow alternately.
+
+One of the best cheap bedders is Pink Catchfly (_Silene pendula_). Its
+rosy cushions are as neat and as lasting as Blue Lobelia. It is a
+hardy annual, but the plants should be autumn sown of the year before.
+It flowers early and long, and its place might be taken for the autumn
+by scarlet dwarf nasturtiums, or clumps of geranium. Pink Catchfly,
+Blue Forget-me-not, White Arabis, and Yellow Viola would make gay any
+spring border. Then to show, to last, and to cut from, few flowers
+rival the self-colored pansies (Viola class). Blue, white, purple, and
+yellow alternately, they are charming, and if in good soil,
+well-watered in drought, and constantly cut from, they bloom the whole
+summer long. And some of them are very fragrant. The secret of success
+with these is never to leave a flower to go to seed. They are not cut
+off by autumnal frosts. On the contrary, you can take them up, and
+divide, and reset, and send a portion to other little gardens where
+they are lacking.
+
+All mine (and they have been very gay this year and very sweet) I owe
+to the bounty of friends who garden _non sibi sed toti_.
+
+Lastly, if there is even a very little taste and time to spare,
+surely nothing can be so satisfactory as a garden full of such flowers
+as (in the words of John Parkinson) "our English ayre will permitt to
+be noursed up." Bearing in mind these counsels:
+
+Make a wise selection of hardy plants. Grow only good sorts, and of
+these choose what suit your soil and climate. Give them space and good
+feeding. Disturb the roots as little as possible, and cut the flowers
+constantly. Then they will be fine as well as fit.
+
+Good-bye, Little Friend,
+
+Yours, &c.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+LETTER II.
+
+     "The tropics may have their delights; but they have not turf, and
+     the world without turf is a dreary desert. The original Garden of
+     Eden could not have had such turf as one sees in England.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+     "Woman always did, from the first, make a muss in a garden.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+     "Nevertheless, what a man needs in gardening is a cast-iron back,
+     with a hinge in it."
+
+     --_Pusley; or, My Summer in a Garden_.--C. D. WARNER.
+
+
+DEAR LITTLE FRIEND,
+
+Do you know the little book from which these sayings are quoted? It is
+one you can laugh over by yourself, again and again. A very good
+specimen of that curious, new-world kind of wit--American humor; and
+also full of the truest sense of natural beauty and of gardening
+delights.
+
+Mr. Warner is not complimentary to woman's work in the garden, though
+he displays all the graceful deference of his countrymen to the weaker
+sex. In the charming dedication to his wife, whilst desiring "to
+acknowledge an influence which has lent half the charm to my labor,"
+he adds: "If I were in a court of justice, or injustice, under oath, I
+should not like to say that, either in the wooing days of spring, or
+under the suns of the summer solstice, you had been, either with hoe,
+rake, or miniature spade, of the least use in the garden." Perhaps our
+fair cousins on the other side of the Atlantic do not _grub_ so
+energetically as we do. Certainly, with us it is very common for the
+ladies of the family to be the practical gardeners, the master of the
+house caring chiefly for a good general effect, with tidy walks and
+grassplots, and displaying less of that almost maternal solicitude
+which does bring flowers to perfection.
+
+I have sometimes thought that it would be a good division of labor in
+a Little Garden, if, where Joan coddles the roses and rears the
+seedlings, Darby would devote some of his leisure to the walks and
+grassplots.
+
+Few things in one's garden are pleasanter to one's own eye, or gain
+more admiration from others, than well-kept turf. Green grass is one
+of the charms of the British Isles, which are emerald isles
+throughout, though Ireland is so _par excellence_. It is so much a
+matter of course to us that we hardly realize this till we hear or
+read what foreigners say about it, and also our own American and
+colonial cousins. We go abroad and revel in real sunshine, and come
+home with glowing memories to abuse our own cloudy skies; but they
+come from burnt-up landscapes to refresh their eyes with our perpetual
+green.
+
+Even a little grassplot well repays pains and care. If you have to
+make it, never use cheap seed. Buy the very best from seedsmen of
+repute, or you will get a conglomeration of weeds instead of a
+green-sward of fine grasses and white clover. Trench the ground to an
+_even_ depth, tread it firm, and have light, finely-sifted soil
+uppermost. Sow thickly early in April, cover lightly, and protect from
+birds. If the soil is good, and the seed first-rate, your sward will
+be green the first season.
+
+Turfs make a lawn somewhat quicker than seed. The best are cut from
+the road-side, but it is a hateful despoiling of one of the fairest of
+travellers' joys. Those who commit this highway robbery should reckon
+themselves in honor bound to sow the bare places they leave behind.
+Some people cut the pieces eighteen inches square, some about a yard
+long and twelve inches wide. Cut thin, roll up like thin bread and
+butter. When they are laid down, fit close together, like bits of a
+puzzle, and roll well after laying. If they gape with shrinking, fill
+in between with finely sifted soil, and roll again and again.
+
+Strictly speaking, a grassplot should be all grass, grass and a little
+white clover. "Soldiers" (of the plaintain type) are not to be
+tolerated on a lawn, but I have a weak corner for dog-daisies. I once
+owned a little garden in Canada, but never a dog-daisy grew there. A
+lady I knew had one--in a pot--sent from "Home." But even if you have
+a sentimental fondness for "the pretty things" (as their botanical
+name signifies), and like to see their little white faces peeping out
+of the grass, this must not be carried too far. In some soils
+dog-daisies will soon devour the whole lawn.
+
+How are they, and "soldiers," and other weeds to be extirpated? There
+are many nostrums, but none so effectual as a patient digging up (with
+a long "daisy fork") of plant after plant _by the roots_. The whole
+family party and any chance visitors will not be too many for the
+work, and, if each laborer is provided with a cast-iron back with a
+hinge in it, so much the better. A writer in the _Garden_ seems to
+have been very successful with salt, used early in the season and with
+great care. He says: "After the first cutting in the spring put as
+much salt on each weed, through the palm of the hand, as will
+distinctly cover it. In two or three days, depending on the weather,
+they will turn brown. Those weeds that have escaped can be distinctly
+seen, and the operation should be repeated. The weeds thus treated
+die, and in about three weeks the grass will have grown, and there
+will not be a vestige of disturbance left. Two years ago I converted a
+rough pasture into a tennis-ground for six courts. Naturally the turf
+was a mass of rough weeds. It took three days to salt them, and the
+result was curiously successful."
+
+Another prescription is to cut off the crowns of the offending plants,
+and dose them with a few drops of carbolic acid.
+
+Grass will only grow dense by constant cutting and moisture. The
+scythe works best when the grass is wet, and the machine when it is
+dry. Sweep it and roll it during the winter. Pick off stones, sticks,
+or anything that "has no business" on it, as you would pick "bits" off
+a carpet.
+
+If grass grows rank and coarse, a dressing of sand will improve it; if
+it is poor and easily burned up, give it a sprinkling of soot, or
+guano, or wood ashes (or all three mixed) before rain. "Slops" are as
+welcome to parched grass as to half-starved flowers. If the weather is
+hot and the soil light, it is well occasionally to leave the short
+clippings of one mowing upon the lawn to protect the roots.
+
+I do not know if it becomes unmanageable, but, in moderation, I think
+chamomile a very charming intruder on a lawn, and the aromatic scent
+which it yields to one's tread to be very grateful in the open air. It
+is pleasant, too, to have a knoll or a bank somewhere, where thyme can
+grow among the grass. But the subject of flowers that grow well
+through grass is a large one. It is one also on which the members of
+our Parkinson Society would do kindly to give us any exceptional
+experiences, especially in reference to flowers which not only
+flourish among grass, but do not resent being mown down. The lovely
+blue windflower (_Anemone Apennina_), is, I believe, one of these.
+
+There is no doubt that now and then plants prefer to meet with a
+little resistance, and despise a bed that is made too comfortable.
+Self-sown ones often come up much more vigorously through the hard
+path than when the seed has fallen within the border. The way to grow
+the parsley fern is said to be to clap a good big stone on his crown
+very early in the spring, and let him struggle out at all corners from
+underneath it. It is undoubtedly a comfort to rock-plants and creeping
+things to be planted with a stone over their feet to keep them cool!
+
+Which reminds me of stones for bordering. I think they make the best
+of all edgings for a Little Garden. Box-edgings are the prettiest, but
+they are expensive, require good keeping, and harbor slugs. For that
+matter, most things seem to harbor slugs in any but a very dry
+climate, and there are even more prescriptions for their destruction
+than that of lawn weeds. I don't think lime does much, nor soot. Wet
+soon slakes them. Thick slices of turnip are attractive. Slugs really
+do seem to like them, even better than one's favorite seedlings.
+Little heaps of bran also, and young lettuces. My slugs do not care
+for cabbage leaves, and they are very untidy. Put thick slices of
+turnip near your auriculas, favorite primroses and polyanthuses, and
+Christmas roses, and near anything tender and not well established,
+and overhaul them early in the morning. "You can't get up too early,
+if you have a garden," says Mr. Warner; and he adds: "Things appear to
+go on in the night in the garden uncommonly. It would be less trouble
+to stay up than it is to get up so early!"
+
+To return to stone edgings. When quite newly laid, like miniature
+rockwork, they are, perhaps, the least bit cockneyfied, and suggestive
+of something between oyster-shell borderings and mock ruins. But this
+effect very rapidly disappears as they bury themselves in cushions of
+pink catch-fly (v. _compacta_), or low-growing pinks, tiny campanulas,
+yellow viola, London pride, and the vast variety of rock-plants,
+"alpines," and low-growing "herbaceous stuff," which delight in
+squeezing up to a big cool stone that will keep a little moisture for
+their rootlets in hot summer weather. This is a much more interesting
+kind of edging than any one kind of plant can make, I think, and in a
+Little Garden it is like an additional border, leaving the other free
+for bigger plants. If one kind is preferred, for a light soil there is
+nothing like thrift. And the white thrift is very silvery and more
+beautiful than the pink. There is a large thrift, too, which is
+handsome. But I prefer stones, and I like varieties of color--bits of
+gray boulder, and red and yellow sandstone.
+
+I like warm color also on the walks. I should always have red walks if
+I could afford them. There is a red material, the result of some
+process of burning, which we used to get in the iron and coal
+districts of Yorkshire, which I used to think very pretty, but I do
+not know what it is called.
+
+Good walks are a great luxury. It is a wise economy to go round your
+walks after rain and look for little puddles; make a note of where the
+water lodges and fill it up. Keep gratings swept. If the grating is
+free and there is an overflow not to be accounted for, it is very
+possible that a drain-pipe somewhere is choke-full of the roots of
+some tree.
+
+Some people advise hacking up your walks from time to time, and other
+people advise you not. Some people say there is nothing like salt to
+destroy walk weeds and moss, and brighten the gravel, and some people
+say that salt in the long run feeds the ground and the weeds. I am
+disposed to think that, in a Little Garden, there is nothing like a
+weeding woman with an old knife and a little salt afterwards. It is
+also advisable to be your own weeding woman, that you may be sure that
+the weeds come up by the roots! Next to the cast-iron back before
+mentioned, I recommend a housemaid's kneeling mat (such as is used for
+scrubbing floors), as a gardener's comfort.
+
+I hope, if you have been bulb planting, that you got them all in by
+Lord Mayor's Day. Whether bulbs should be planted deep or shallow is
+another "vexed question." In a Little Garden, where you don't want to
+disturb them, and may like to plant out some small rooted annuals on
+the top of them later on, I should plant deep.
+
+If you are planting roses, remember that two or three, carefully
+planted in good stuff that goes deep, will pay you better than six
+times the number stuck _into a hole_ in cold clay or sand or builders'
+rubbish, and left to push their rootlets as best they can, or perish
+in the attempt. Spread out these rootlets very tenderly when planting.
+You will reap the reward of your gentleness in flowers. Rose roots
+don't like being squeezed, like a Chinese lady's feet. I was taught
+this by one who knows,--He has a good name for the briar suckers and
+sprouts which I hope you carefully cut off from your grafted
+roses,--He calls it "the old Adam!"
+
+Yours, &c.
+
+
+LETTER III.
+
+    A good rule
+    Is a good tool.
+
+
+DEAR LITTLE FRIEND,
+
+January is not a month in which you are likely to be doing much in
+your little garden. Possibly a wet blanket of snow lies thick and
+white over all its hopes and anxieties. No doubt you made all tidy,
+and some things warm, for the winter, in the delicious opportunities
+of S. Luke's and S. Martin's little summers, and, like the amusing
+American I told you of, "turned away writing _resurgam_ on the
+gate-post."
+
+I write _resurgam_ on labels, and put them wherever bulbs lie buried,
+or such herbaceous treasures as die down, and are, in consequence, too
+often treated as mere mortal remains of the departed, by the
+undiscriminating hand of the jobbing gardener.
+
+Winter is a good time to make plans, and to put them down in your
+Garden-book. Have you a Garden-book? A note-book, I mean, devoted to
+garden memoranda. It is a very useful kind of commonplace book, and
+soon becomes as fascinating as autumn and spring catalogues.
+
+One has to learn to manage even a Little Garden chiefly by experience,
+which is slow teaching, if sure. Books and gardeners are helpful; but,
+like other doctors, they differ. I think one is often slower to learn
+anything than one need be, from not making at once for first
+principles. If one knew more of these, it would be easier to apply
+one's own experience, and to decide amid conflicting advice.
+
+Here are a few rough and ready "first principles" for you.
+
+_Hardy flowers in hedges and ditches are partly fed, and are also
+covered from cold and heat, and winds, and drought, by fallen leaves
+and refuse. Hardy flowers in gardens have all this tidied away from
+them, and, being left somewhat hungry and naked in proportion, are all
+the better for an occasional top-dressing and mulching, especially in
+autumn._ It is not absolutely necessary to turn a flower border upside
+down and dig it over every year. It may (for some years at any rate),
+if you find this more convenient, be treated on the hedge system, and
+_fed from the top_; thinning big clumps, pulling up weeds, moving and
+removing in detail.
+
+_Concentrated strength means large blooms._ If a plant is ripening
+seed, some strength goes to that; if bursting into many blooms, some
+goes to each of them; if it is trying to hold up against blustering
+winds, or to thrive on exhausted ground, or to straighten out cramped
+and clogged roots, these struggles also demand strength. Moral: Plant
+carefully, support your tall plants, keep all your plants in easy
+circumstances, don't put them to the trouble of ripening seed (unless
+you specially want it). To this end cut off fading flowers, and also
+cut off buds in places where they would not show well when they came
+out, and all this economized strength will go into the blossoms that
+remain.
+
+_You cannot grow everything. Grow what suits your soil and climate,
+and the best kinds of these, as well as you can._ You may make soil to
+suit a plant, but you cannot make the climate to suit it, and some
+flowers are more fastidious about the air they breathe than about the
+soil they feed upon. There are, however, scores of sturdy, handsome
+flowers, as hardy as highlanders, which will thrive in almost any
+soil, and under all the variations of climate of the British Isles.
+Some will even endure the smoke-laden atmosphere of towns and town
+suburbs; which, sooner or later, is certain death to so many. It is a
+pity that small florists and greengrocers in London do not know more
+about this; and it would be a great act of kindness to them and to
+their customers to instruct them. Then, instead of encouraging the
+ruthless slaughter of primroses, scores and hundreds of plants of
+which are torn up and then sold in a smoky atmosphere to which they
+never adapt themselves, these small shopkeepers might offer plants of
+the many beautiful varieties of poppies, from the grand _Orientalis_
+onwards, chrysanthemums, stocks, wall-flowers, Canterbury bells,
+salvias, oenotheras, snapdragons, perennial lobelias, iris, and
+other plants which are known to be very patient under a long course of
+soot. Most of the hardy California annuals bear town life well.
+Perhaps because they have only to bear it for a year. _Convolvulus
+major_--the Morning Glory, as our American cousins so prettily call
+it--flourishes on a smutty wall as generously as the Virginian
+creeper.
+
+_North borders are safest in winter._ They are free from the dangerous
+alternation of sunshine and frost. Put things of doubtful hardihood
+under a north wall, with plenty of sandy soil or ashes over their
+roots, some cinders on that, and perhaps a little light protection,
+like bracken, in front of them, and their chances will not be bad.
+Apropos to tender things, if your little garden is in a cold part of
+the British Isles, and has ungenial conditions of soil and aspect,
+don't try to keep tender things out of doors in winter; but, if it is
+in the south or west of the British Isles, I should be tempted to very
+wide experiments with lots of plants not commonly reckoned "hardy."
+Where laurels flower freely you will probably be successful eight
+years out of ten. Most fuchsias, and tender things which die down, may
+be kept.
+
+_Very little will keep Jack Frost out, if he has not yet been in_,
+either in the garden or the house. A "hot bottle" will keep frost out
+of a small room where one has stored geraniums, &c., so will a small
+paraffin lamp (which--N. B.--will also keep water-pipes from
+catastrophe). How I have toiled, in my young days, with these same hot
+water bottles in a cupboard off the nursery, which was my nearest
+approach to a greenhouse! And how sadly I have experienced that where
+Mr. Frost goes out Mr. Mould is apt to slink in! Truly, as Mr. Warner
+says, "the gardener needs all the consolations of a high philosophy!"
+
+It is a great satisfaction if things _will_ live out of doors. And in
+a _little_ garden a good deal of coddling may be done. I am going to
+get some round fruit hampers to turn over certain tender pets this
+winter. When one has one's flowers by the specimen and not by the
+score, such cossetting is possible. Ashes and cinders are excellent
+protection for the roots, and for plants--like roses--which do not die
+back to the earth level, and which sometimes require a screen as well
+as a quilt; bracken, fir branches, a few pea sticks, and matting or
+straw are all handy helps. The old gentleman who ran out--without his
+dressing gown--to fling his own bed-quilt over some plants endangered
+by an unexpected frost, came very near to having a fine show of bloom
+and not being there to see it; but, short of this excessive zeal, when
+one's garden is a little one, and close to one's threshold, one may
+catch Jack Frost on the surface of many bits of rough and ready
+fencing on very cold nights.
+
+_In drought, one good soaking with tepid water is worth six
+sprinklings._ Watering is very fatiguing, but it is unskilled labor,
+and one ought to be able to hire strong arms to do it at a small rate.
+But I never met the hired person yet who could be persuaded that it
+was needful to do more than make the surface of the ground look as if
+it had been raining.
+
+There is a "first principle" of which some gardeners are very fond,
+but in which I do not believe, that if you begin to water you must go
+on, and that too few waterings do harm. What I don't believe is that
+they do harm, nor did I ever meet with a gardener who complained of an
+odd shower, even if the skies did not follow it up. An odd sprinkling
+does next to no good, but an odd soaking may save the lives of your
+plants. In very hot weather don't grudge a few waterings to your
+polyanthuses and primroses. If they are planted in open sunny borders
+with no shade or hedge-mulching, they suffer greatly from drought.
+
+_Flowers, like human beings, are, to some extent, creatures of habit._
+They get used to many things which they can't at all abide once in a
+way. If your little garden (like mine) is part of a wandering
+establishment, here to-day and there to-morrow, you may get even your
+roses into very good habits of moving good humoredly, and making
+themselves quickly at home. If plants from the first are accustomed to
+being moved about,--every year, or two years,--they do not greatly
+resent it. A real "old resident," who has pushed his rootlets far and
+wide, and never tried any other soil or aspect, is very slow to settle
+elsewhere, even if he does not die of _nostalgia_ and nervous shock!
+In making cuttings, consider the habits and customs of the parent
+plant. If it has been grown in heat, the cuttings will require heat to
+start them. And so on, as to dry soil or moist, &c. If somebody gives
+you "a root" in hot weather, or a bad time for moving, when you have
+made your hole pour water in very freely. Saturate the ground below,
+"puddle in" your plants with plenty more, and you will probably save
+it, especially if you turn a pot or basket over it in the heat of the
+day. In warm weather plant in the evening, the new-comers then have a
+round of the clock in dews and restfulness before the sun is fierce
+enough to make them flag. In cold weather move to the morning, and for
+the same period they will be safe from possible frost. Little, if any,
+watering is needed for late autumn plantings.
+
+_Those parts of a plant which are not accustomed to exposure are those
+which suffer from it._ You may garden bare-handed in a cold wind and
+not be the worse for it, but, if both your arms were bared to the
+shoulders, the consequences would probably be very different. A
+bundle of rose-trees or shrubs will bear a good deal on their leaves
+and branches, but for every moment you leave their roots exposed to
+drying and chilling blasts they suffer. When a plant is out of the
+ground, protect its crown and its roots at once. If a plant is moved
+quickly, it is advantageous, of course, to take it up with as much
+earth as possible, if the roots remain undisturbed in their little
+plat. Otherwise, earth is no better than any other protection; and in
+sending plants by post, &c. (when soil weighs very heavily), it is
+better to wash every bit of soil out of the roots, and then thoroughly
+wrap them in moss, and outside that in hay or tow, or cotton wool.
+Then, if the roots are comfortably spread in nice mould at the other
+end of the journey, all should go well.
+
+I reserve a sneaking credulity about "lucky-fingers." Or rather, I
+should say, a belief that some people have a strange power (or tact)
+in dealing with the vegetable world, as others have in controlling and
+coaxing animals.
+
+It is a vivid memory of my childhood that (amongst the box-edged
+gardens of a family of eight), that of my eldest brother was almost
+inconvenienced by the luck of his fingers. "Survival of the fittest"
+(if hardiest does mean fittest!) kept the others within bounds; but
+what he begged, borrowed, and stole, survived, all of it, conglomerate
+around the "double velvet" rose, which formed the centrepiece. We
+used to say that when the top layer was pared off, a buried crop came
+up.
+
+An old friend with lucky fingers visited my Little Garden this autumn.
+He wanders all over the world, and has no garden of his own except
+window-boxes in London, where he seems to grow what he pleases. He is
+constantly doing kindnesses, and likes to do them his own way. He
+christened a border (out of which I had not then turned the builders'
+rubbish) Desolation Border, with more candor than compliment. He said
+it wanted flowers, and he meant to sow some. I suggested that, sown at
+that period of the summer, they would not flower this season. He said
+they would. (They did.) None of my suggestions met with favor, so I
+became gratefully passive, and watched the lucky fingers from a
+distance, fluttering small papers, and making mystic deposits here and
+there, through the length and breadth of the garden. I only begged him
+to avoid my labels. The seeds he sowed ranged from three (rather old)
+seeds of bottle gourd to a packet of mixed Virginian stock. They all
+came up. He said, "I shall put them in where I think it is desirable,
+and when they come up you'll see where they are." I did.
+
+For some days after his departure, on other country visits, I received
+plants by post. Not in tins, or boxes, but in envelopes with little or
+no packing. In this way came sea lavender in full bloom, crimson
+monkey plant from the London window box, and cuttings of
+mesembryanthemum. They are all alive and thriving.
+
+The bottle gourd and the annuals have had their day, and it is over;
+but in the most unexpected places there still rise, like ghosts,
+certain plants which completely puzzle me.[4] They have not blossomed,
+but they grow on in spite of frost. Some of them are nearly as tall as
+myself. They almost alarm me when I am dividing violas, and trifling
+with Alpines. They stand over me (without sticks) and seem to say, "We
+are up, you see where we are! We shall grow as long as we think it
+desirable."
+
+Farewell for the present, Little Friend,
+
+Yours, &c.
+
+[Footnote 4: When fully grown these plants proved to be the
+Tree-Mallow, _Lavatera arborea_, the seeds were gathered from
+specimens on the shores of the Mediterranean.]
+
+
+LETTER IV.
+
+    When Candlemas Day is come and gone,
+    The snow lies on a hot stone.--_Old Saw._
+
+
+DEAR LITTLE FRIEND,
+
+Among all the changes and chances of human life which go to make up
+fiction as well as fact, there is one change which has never chanced
+to any man; and yet the idea has been found so fascinating by all men
+that it appears in the literature of every country. Most other fancied
+transformations are recorded as facts somewhere in the history of our
+race. Poor men have become rich, the beggar has sat among princes, the
+sick have been made whole, the dead have been raised, the neglected
+man has awoke to find himself famous, rough and kindly beasts have
+been charmed by lovely ladies into very passable Princes, and it would
+be hard to say that the ugly have not seen themselves beautiful in the
+mirror of friendly eyes; but the old have never become young. The
+elixir of youth has intoxicated the imagination of many, but no drop
+of it has ever passed human lips.
+
+If we ever do just taste anything of the vital, hopeful rapture, the
+elastic delight of the old man of a fairy tale, who leaves his cares,
+his crutches, and his chimney-corner, to go forth again young amongst
+the young,--it is when the winter is ended and the spring is come.
+Some people may feel this rising of the sap of life within them more
+than others, but there are probably very few persons whom the first
+mild airs and bursting buds and pushing flower-crowns do not slightly
+intoxicate with a sort of triumphant pleasure.
+
+What then, dear little friend, must be the February feelings of the
+owner of a Little Garden? Knowing, as we do, every plant and its
+place,--having taken just pride in its summer bloom,--having preserved
+this by cares and trimmings and proppings to a picturesque and florid
+autumn, though wild flowers have long been shrivelled and
+shapeless,--having tidied it up and put a little something comforting
+round it when bloom and outline were absolutely no more: what must we
+feel when we first detect the ruddy young shoots of our favorite
+peonies, or perceive that the brown old hepaticas have become green
+and young again and are full of flower-buds?
+
+The process of strolling, with bent back and peering eyes, by the side
+of the still frosty borders is so deeply interesting, and a very
+little sunshine on a broad band of crocuses has such a summer-like
+effect, that one is apt to forget that it is one of the cheapest ways
+of catching cold. The last days of the gardening year not unfrequently
+lead from the flower-bed to the sick-bed. But though there is for
+susceptible folk a noxious influence in the decaying vegetation of
+autumn, from which spring is free, there is bitter treachery in many a
+spring wind, and the damp of the ground seems to reek with the exuding
+chill of all the frosts that have bound it in mid-winter.
+
+I often wonder that, for some exigencies of weather, outdoor
+red-flannel knickerbockers which one wears in Canada are not more in
+use here. The very small children have all their clothes stuffed into
+them, and tumble safely about in the snow like little Dutchmen. Older
+wearers of petticoats cram all in except the outermost skirt. It is a
+very simple garment made of three pieces,--two (straight) legs and a
+large square. The square is folded like a kerchief, and the leg pieces
+attached to the two sloping sides. A broad elastic and small openings
+on each side and at the top enable these very baggy knickerbockers to
+be easily pulled on for going out (where they effectually exclude cold
+exhalations from snow or damp ground), and pulled off on coming in.
+
+Short of such coddling as this, I strongly urge fleecy cork socks
+inside your garden boots; and I may add that if you've never tried
+them, you can have no idea of the warmth and comfort of a pair of
+boy's common yellow-leather leggings, but the buttons will require
+some adjusting.
+
+Of course, very robust gardeners are independent of these troublesome
+considerations; but the gardening members of a family, whether young
+or old, are very often not those vigorous people who can enjoy their
+fresh air at unlimited tennis or a real good stretching walk over the
+hills. They are oftener those weaker vessels who have to be content
+with strolls, and drives, and sketching, and "pottering about the
+garden."
+
+Now, pottering about the garden in spring and autumn has many risks
+for feeble vitalities, and yet these are just the seasons when
+everything requires doing, and there is a good hour's work in every
+yard of a pet border any day. So _verbum sap_. One has to "pay with
+one's person" for most of one's pleasures, if one is delicate; but it
+is possible to do a great deal of equinoctial grubbing with safety and
+even benefit, if one is very warmly protected, especially about the
+feet and legs. These details are very tedious for young people, but
+not so tedious as being kept indoors by a cold.
+
+And not only must delicate gardeners be cossetted with little
+advantages at these uncertain seasons, the less robust of the flowers
+gain equally by timely care. Jack Frost comes and goes, and leaves
+many plants (especially those planted the previous autumn) half jumped
+out of the ground. Look out for this, and tread them firmly in again.
+A shovel-full of cinder-siftings is a most timely attention round the
+young shoots of such as are poking up their noses a little too early,
+and seem likely to get them frost-bitten. Most alpines and low-growing
+stuff will bear light rolling after the frost has unsettled them. This
+is done in large gardens, but in a Little Garden they can be attended
+to individually. Give a little protection to what is too forward in
+growth, or badly placed, or of doubtful hardihood, or newly planted.
+Roses and hardy perennials can be planted in open weather.
+
+But you will not really be very busy outside till March, and we are
+not concerning ourselves with what has to be done "in heat," where a
+good deal is going on.
+
+Still, in mild climates or seasons (and one must always remember how
+greatly the British Isles vary in parts, as to climate), the idea of
+seedlings and cuttings will begin to stir our souls, when February
+"fills dike," if it is "with black and not with white," _i. e._, with
+rain and not snow. So I will just say that for a Little Garden, and a
+mixed garden, demanding patches, not scores of things, you can raise a
+wonderfully sufficient number of half-hardy things in an ordinary
+room, with one or two bell-glasses to give the moist atmosphere in
+which sitting-rooms are wanting. A common tumbler will cover a dozen
+"seedlings," and there you have two nice little clumps of half a dozen
+plants each, when they are put out. (And mind you leave them space to
+spread.) A lot of little cuttings can be rooted in wet sand.
+Hardwooded cuttings may grow along slowly in cool places; little juicy
+soft ones need warmth, damp, and quick pushing forward. The very tips
+of fuchsias grow very easily struck early in wet sand, and will flower
+the same year. Kind friends will give you these, and if they will also
+give you "tips" of white, yellow, and blue Marguerites (this last is
+_Agathea celestis_), these strike as easily as chrysanthemums, and
+are delightful afterwards to cut from. They are not very tender,
+though not quite hardy.
+
+For the few pots and pans and boxes of cuttings and seedlings which
+you require, it is well worth while to get a small stock of good
+compost from a nursery gardener; leaf mould, peat, and sand, whether
+for seedlings or cuttings. Always _sink_ your pot in a second
+covering. Either have your pots sunk in a box of sand, which you can
+keep damp, or have small pots sunk in larger ones. A _great coat_ to
+prevent evaporation, in some shape, is invaluable.
+
+Yours, &c.,
+
+J. H. E.
+
+
+
+
+SNAP-DRAGONS.
+
+A TALE OF CHRISTMAS EVE.
+
+
+MR. AND MRS. SKRATDJ.
+
+Once upon a time there lived a certain family of the name of Skratdj.
+(It has a Russian or Polish look, and yet they most certainly lived in
+England.) They were remarkable for the following peculiarity. They
+seldom seriously quarrelled, but they never agreed about anything. It
+is hard to say whether it were more painful for their friends to hear
+them constantly contradicting each other, or gratifying to discover
+that it "meant nothing," and was "only their way."
+
+It began with the father and mother. They were a worthy couple, and
+really attached to each other. They had a habit of contradicting each
+other's statements, and opposing each other's opinions, which, though
+mutually understood and allowed for in private, was most trying to the
+by-standers in public. If one related an anecdote, the other would
+break in with half-a-dozen corrections of trivial details of no
+interest or importance to anyone, the speakers included. For
+instance: Suppose the two dining in a strange house, and Mrs. Skratdj
+seated by the host, and contributing to the small-talk of the
+dinner-table. Thus:--
+
+"Oh yes. Very changeable weather indeed. It looked quite promising
+yesterday morning in the town, but it began to rain at noon."
+
+"A quarter past eleven, my dear," Mr. Skratdj's voice would be heard
+to say from several chairs down, in the corrective tones of a husband
+and father; "and really, my dear, so far from being a promising
+morning, I must say it looked about as threatening as it well could.
+Your memory is not always accurate in small matters, my love."
+
+But Mrs. Skratdj had not been a wife and a mother for fifteen years,
+to be snuffed out at one snap of the marital snuffers. As Mr. Skratdj
+leaned forward in his chair, she leaned forward in hers, and defended
+herself across the intervening couples.
+
+"Why, my dear Mr. Skratdj, you said yourself the weather had not been
+so promising for a week."
+
+"What I said, my dear, pardon me, was that the barometer was higher
+than it had been for a week. But, as you might have observed if these
+details were in your line, my love, which they are not, the rise was
+extraordinarily rapid, and there is no surer sign of unsettled
+weather.--But Mrs. Skratdj is apt to forget these unimportant
+trifles," he added, with a comprehensive smile round the
+dinner-table; "her thoughts are very properly absorbed by the more
+important domestic questions of the nursery."
+
+"Now I think that's rather unfair on Mr. Skratdj's part," Mrs. Skratdj
+would chirp, with a smile quite as affable and as general as her
+husband's. "I'm sure he's _quite_ as forgetful and inaccurate as _I_
+am. And I don't think _my_ memory is at _all_ a bad one."
+
+"You forgot the dinner hour when we were going out to dine last week,
+nevertheless," said Mr. Skratdj.
+
+"And you couldn't help me when I asked you," was the sprightly retort.
+"And I'm sure it's not like you to forget anything about _dinner_, my
+dear."
+
+"The letter was addressed to you," said Mr. Skratdj.
+
+"I sent it to you by Jemima," said Mrs. Skratdj.
+
+"I didn't read it," said Mr. Skratdj.
+
+"Well, you burnt it," said Mrs. Skratdj; "and, as I always say,
+there's nothing more foolish than burning a letter of invitation
+before the day, for one is certain to forget."
+
+"I've no doubt you always do say it," Mr. Skratdj remarked with a
+smile, "but I certainly never remember to have heard the observation
+from your lips, my love."
+
+"Whose memory's in fault there?" asked Mrs. Skratdj triumphantly; and
+as at this point the ladies rose, Mrs. Skratdj had the last word.
+
+Indeed, as may be gathered from this conversation, Mrs. Skratdj was
+quite able to defend herself. When she was yet a bride, and young and
+timid, she used to collapse when Mr. Skratdj contradicted her
+statements, and set her stories straight in public. Then she hardly
+ever opened her lips without disappearing under the domestic
+extinguisher. But in the course of fifteen years she had learned that
+Mr. Skratdj's bark was a great deal worse than his bite. (If, indeed,
+he had a bite at all.) Thus snubs that made other people's ears
+tingle, had no effect whatever on the lady to whom they were
+addressed, for she knew exactly what they were worth, and had by this
+time become fairly adept at snapping in return. In the days when she
+succumbed she was occasionally unhappy, but now she and her husband
+understood each other, and having agreed to differ, they unfortunately
+agreed also to differ in public.
+
+Indeed, it was the by-standers who had the worst of it on these
+occasions. To the worthy couple themselves the habit had become second
+nature, and in no way affected the friendly tenor of their domestic
+relations. They would interfere with each other's conversation,
+contradicting assertions, and disputing conclusions for a whole
+evening; and then, when all the world and his wife thought that these
+ceaseless sparks of bickering must blaze up into a flaming quarrel as
+soon as they were alone, they would bowl amicably home in a cab,
+criticizing the friends who were commenting upon them, and as little
+agreed about the events of the evening as about the details of any
+other events whatever.
+
+Yes. The by-standers certainly had the worst of it. Those who were
+near wished themselves anywhere else, especially when appealed to.
+Those who were at a distance did not mind so much. A domestic squabble
+at a certain distance is interesting, like an engagement viewed from a
+point beyond the range of guns. In such a position one may some day be
+placed oneself! Moreover, it gives a touch of excitement to a dull
+evening to be able to say _sotto voce_ to one's neighbor, "Do listen!
+The Skratdjs are at it again!" Their unmarried friends thought a
+terrible abyss of tyranny and aggravation must lie beneath it all, and
+blessed their stars that they were still single, and able to tell a
+tale their own way. The married ones had more idea of how it really
+was, and wished in the name of common sense and good taste that
+Skratdj and his wife would not make fools of themselves.
+
+So it went on, however; and so, I suppose it goes on still, for not
+many bad habits are cured in middle age.
+
+On certain questions of comparative speaking their views were never
+identical. Such as the temperature being hot or cold, things being
+light or dark, the apple-tarts being sweet or sour. So one day Mr.
+Skratdj came into the room, rubbing his hands, and planting himself at
+the fire with "Bitterly cold it is to-day, to be sure."
+
+"Why, my dear William," said Mrs. Skratdj, "I'm sure you must have got
+a cold; I feel a fire quite oppressive myself."
+
+"You were wishing you'd a seal-skin jacket yesterday, when it wasn't
+half as cold as it is to-day," said Mr. Skratdj.
+
+"My dear William! Why, the children were shivering the whole day, and
+the wind was in the north."
+
+"Due east, Mrs. Skratdj."
+
+"I know by the smoke," said Mrs. Skratdj, softly but decidedly.
+
+"I fancy I can tell an east wind when I feel it," said Mr. Skratdj,
+jocosely, to the company.
+
+"I told Jemima to look at the weathercock," murmured Mrs. Skratdj.
+
+"I don't care a fig for Jemima," said her husband.
+
+On another occasion Mrs. Skratdj and a lady friend were conversing.
+
+... "We met him at the Smiths'--a gentlemanlike agreeable man, about
+forty," said Mrs. Skratdj, in reference to some matter interesting to
+both ladies.
+
+"Not a day over thirty-five," said Mr. Skratdj, from behind his
+newspaper.
+
+"Why, my dear William, his hair's grey," said Mrs. Skratdj.
+
+"Plenty of men are grey at thirty," said Mr. Skratdj. "I knew a man
+who was grey at twenty-five."
+
+"Well, forty or thirty-five, it doesn't much matter," said Mrs.
+Skratdj, about to resume her narration.
+
+"Five years matters a good deal to most people at thirty-five," said
+Mr. Skratdj, as he walked towards the door. "They would make a
+remarkable difference to me, I know;" and with a jocular air Mr.
+Skratdj departed, and Mrs. Skratdj had the rest of the anecdote her
+own way.
+
+THE LITTLE SKRATDJS.
+
+The Spirit of Contradiction finds a place in most nurseries, though to
+a very varying degree in different ones. Children snap and snarl by
+nature, like young puppies; and most of us can remember taking part in
+some such spirited dialogues as the following:--
+
+{"I will."
+{"You can't."
+
+{"You shall."
+{"I won't."
+
+{"You daren't."
+{"I dare."
+
+{"I'll tell Mamma."
+{"I don't care if you do."
+
+It is the part of wise parents to repress these squibs and crackers of
+juvenile contention, and to enforce that slowly-learned lesson, that
+in this world one must often "pass over" and "put up with" things in
+other people, being oneself by no means perfect. Also that it is a
+kindness, and almost a duty, to let people think and say and do things
+in their own way occasionally.
+
+But even if Mr. and Mrs. Skratdj had ever thought of teaching all this
+to their children, it must be confessed that the lesson would not have
+come with a good grace from either of them, since they snapped and
+snarled between themselves as much or more than their children in the
+nursery.
+
+The two eldest were the leaders in the nursery squabbles. Between
+these, a boy and a girl, a ceaseless war of words was waged from
+morning to night. And as neither of them lacked ready wit, and both
+were in constant practice, the art of snapping was cultivated by them
+to the highest pitch.
+
+It began at breakfast, if not sooner.
+
+"You've taken my chair."
+
+"It's not your chair."
+
+"You know it's the one I like, and it was in my place."
+
+"How do you know it was in your place?"
+
+"Never mind. I do know."
+
+"No, you don't."
+
+"Yes, I do."
+
+"Suppose I say it was in my place."
+
+"You can't, for it wasn't."
+
+"I can, if I like."
+
+"Well, was it?"
+
+"I sha'n't tell you."
+
+"Ah! that shews it wasn't."
+
+"No, it doesn't."
+
+"Yes, it does."
+
+Etc., etc., etc.
+
+The direction of their daily walks was a fruitful subject of
+difference of opinion.
+
+"Let's go on the Common to-day, Nurse."
+
+"Oh, don't let's go there; we're always going on the Common."
+
+"I'm sure we're not. We've not been there for ever so long."
+
+"Oh, what a story! We were there on Wednesday. Let's go down Gipsey
+Lane. We never go down Gipsey Lane."
+
+"Why, we're always going down Gipsey Lane. And there's nothing to see
+there."
+
+"I don't care. I won't go on the Common, and I shall go and get Papa
+to say we're to go down Gipsey Lane. I can run faster than you."
+
+"That's very sneaking; but I don't care."
+
+"Papa! Papa! Polly's called me a sneak."
+
+"No, I didn't, Papa."
+
+"You did."
+
+"No, I didn't. I only said it was sneaking of you to say you'd run
+faster than me, and get Papa to say we were to go down Gipsey Lane."
+
+"Then you did call him sneaking," said Mr. Skratdj. "And you're a very
+naughty, ill-mannered little girl. You're getting very troublesome,
+Polly, and I shall have to send you to school, where you'll be kept in
+order. Go where your brother wishes at once."
+
+For Polly and her brother had reached an age when it was convenient,
+if possible, to throw the blame of all nursery differences on Polly.
+In families where domestic discipline is rather fractious than firm,
+there comes a stage when the girls almost invariably go to the wall,
+because they will stand snubbing, and the boys will not. Domestic
+authority, like some other powers, is apt to be magnified on the
+weaker class.
+
+But Mr. Skratdj would not always listen even to Harry.
+
+"If you don't give it me back directly, I'll tell about your eating
+the two magnum-bonums in the kitchen garden on Sunday," said Master
+Harry on one occasion.
+
+    "Tell-tale tit!
+    Your tongue shall be slit,
+    And every dog in the town shall have a little bit,"
+
+quoted his sister.
+
+"Ah! You've called me a tell-tale. Now I'll go and tell Papa. You got
+into a fine scrape for calling me names the other day."
+
+"Go, then! I don't care."
+
+"You wouldn't like me to go, I know."
+
+"You daren't. That's what it is."
+
+"I dare."
+
+"Then why don't you?"
+
+"Oh, I am going; but you'll see what will be the end of it."
+
+Polly, however, had her own reasons for remaining stolid, and Harry
+started. But when he reached the landing he paused. Mr. Skratdj had
+especially announced that morning that he did not wish to be
+disturbed, and though he was a favorite, Harry had no desire to invade
+the dining-room at this crisis. So he returned to the nursery, and
+said with a magnanimous air, "I don't want to get you into a scrape,
+Polly. If you'll beg my pardon I won't go."
+
+"I'm sure I sha'n't," said Polly, who was equally well informed as to
+the position of affairs at headquarters. "Go, if you dare."
+
+"I won't if you want me not," said Harry, discreetly waiving the
+question of apologies.
+
+"But I'd rather you went," said the obdurate Polly. "You're always
+telling tales. Go and tell now, if you're not afraid."
+
+So Harry went. But at the bottom of the stairs he lingered again, and
+was meditating how to return with most credit to his dignity, when
+Polly's face appeared through the banisters, and Polly's sharp tongue
+goaded him on.
+
+"Ah! I see you. You're stopping. You daren't go."
+
+"I dare," said Harry; and at last he went.
+
+As he turned the handle of the door, Mr. Skratdj turned round.
+
+"Please, Papa----" Harry began.
+
+"Get away with you!" cried Mr. Skratdj. "Didn't I tell you I was not
+to be disturbed this morning? What an extraor----"
+
+But Harry had shut the door, and withdrawn precipitately.
+
+Once outside, he returned to the nursery with dignified steps, and an
+air of apparent satisfaction, saying,
+
+"You're to give me the bricks, please."
+
+"Who says so?"
+
+"Why, who should say so? Where have I been, pray?"
+
+"I don't know, and I don't care."
+
+"I've been to Papa. There!"
+
+"Did he say I was to give up the bricks?"
+
+"I've told you."
+
+"No, you've not."
+
+"I sha'n't tell you any more."
+
+"Then I'll go to Papa and ask."
+
+"Go by all means."
+
+"I won't if you'll tell me truly."
+
+"I sha'n't tell you anything. Go and ask, if you dare," said Harry,
+only too glad to have the tables turned.
+
+Polly's expedition met with the same fate, and she attempted to cover
+her retreat in a similar manner.
+
+"Ah! you didn't tell."
+
+"I don't believe you asked Papa."
+
+"Don't you? Very well!"
+
+"Well, did you?"
+
+"Never mind."
+
+Etc., etc., etc.
+
+Meanwhile Mr. Skratdj scolded Mrs. Skratdj for not keeping the
+children in better order. And Mrs. Skratdj said it was quite
+impossible to do so when Mr. Skratdj spoilt Harry as he did, and
+weakened her (Mrs. Skratdj's) authority by constant interference.
+
+Difference of sex gave point to many of these nursery squabbles, as it
+so often does to domestic broils.
+
+"Boys never will do what they're asked," Polly would complain.
+
+"Girls ask such unreasonable things," was Harry's retort.
+
+"Not half so unreasonable as the things you ask."
+
+"Ah! that's a different thing! Women have got to do what men tell
+them, whether it's reasonable or not."
+
+"No, they've not!" said Polly. "At least, that's only husbands and
+wives."
+
+"All women are inferior animals," said Harry.
+
+"Try ordering Mamma to do what you want, and see!" said Polly.
+
+"Men have got to give orders, and women have to obey," said Harry,
+falling back on the general principle. "And when I get a wife, I'll
+take care I make her do what I tell her. But you'll have to obey your
+husband when you get one."
+
+"I won't have a husband, and then I can do as I like."
+
+"Oh, won't you? You'll try to get one, I know. Girls always want to be
+married."
+
+"I'm sure I don't know why," said Polly; "they must have had enough of
+men if they have brothers."
+
+And so they went on, _ad infinitum_, with ceaseless arguments that
+proved nothing and convinced nobody, and a continual stream of
+contradiction that just fell short of downright quarrelling.
+
+Indeed, there was a kind of snapping even less near to a dispute than
+in the cases just mentioned. The little Skratdjs, like some other
+children, were under the unfortunate delusion that it sounds clever to
+hear little boys and girls snap each other up with smart sayings, and
+old and rather vulgar play upon words, such as:
+
+"I'll give you a Christmas box. Which ear will you have it on?"
+
+"I won't stand it."
+
+"Pray take a chair."
+
+"You shall have it to-morrow."
+
+"To-morrow never comes."
+
+And so if a visitor kindly began to talk to one of the children,
+another was sure to draw near and "take up" all the first child's
+answers, with smart comments, and catches that sounded as silly as
+they were tiresome and impertinent.
+
+And ill-mannered as this was, Mr. and Mrs. Skratdj never put a stop to
+it. Indeed, it was only a caricature of what they did themselves. But
+they often said, "We can't think how it is the children are always
+squabbling!"
+
+THE SKRATDJ'S DOG AND THE HOT-TEMPERED GENTLEMAN.
+
+It is wonderful how the state of mind of a whole household is
+influenced by the heads of it. Mr. Skratdj was a very kind master, and
+Mrs. Skratdj was a very kind mistress, and yet their servants lived in
+a perpetual fever of irritability that fell just short of discontent.
+They jostled each other on the back stairs, said sharp things in the
+pantry, and kept up a perennial warfare on the subject of the duty of
+the sexes with the general man-servant. They gave warning on the
+slightest provocation.
+
+The very dog was infected by the snapping mania. He was not a brave
+dog, he was not a vicious dog, and no high-breeding sanctioned his
+pretensions to arrogance. But like his owners, he had contracted a bad
+habit, a trick, which made him the pest of all timid visitors, and
+indeed of all visitors whatsoever.
+
+The moment anyone approached the house, on certain occasions when he
+was spoken to, and often in no traceable connection with any cause at
+all, Snap the mongrel would rush out, and bark in his little sharp
+voice--"Yap! yap! yap!" If the visitor made a stand, he would bound
+away sideways on his four little legs; but the moment the visitor went
+on his way again, Snap was at his heels--"Yap! yap! yap!" He barked at
+the milkman, the butcher's boy, and the baker, though he saw them
+every day. He never got used to the washerwoman, and she never got
+used to him. She said he "put her in mind of that there black dog in
+the Pilgrim's Progress." He sat at the gate in summer, and yapped at
+every vehicle and every pedestrian who ventured to pass on the high
+road. He never but once had the chance of barking at burglars; and
+then, though he barked long and loud, nobody got up, for they said,
+"It's only Snap's way." The Skratdjs lost a silver teapot, a Stilton
+cheese, and two electro christening mugs, on this occasion; and Mr.
+and Mrs. Skratdj dispute who it was who discouraged reliance on Snap's
+warning to the present day.
+
+One Christmas time, a certain hot-tempered gentleman came to visit the
+Skratdjs. A tall, sandy, energetic young man, who carried his own bag
+from the railway. The bag had been crammed rather than packed, after
+the wont of bachelors; and you could see where the heel of a boot
+distended the leather, and where the bottle of shaving-cream lay.
+
+As he came up to the house, out came Snap as usual--"Yap! yap! yap!"
+Now the gentleman was very fond of dogs, and had borne this greeting
+some dozen of times from Snap, who for his part knew the visitor quite
+as well as the washerwoman, and rather better than the butcher's boy.
+The gentleman had good, sensible, well-behaved dogs of his own, and
+was greatly disgusted with Snap's conduct. Nevertheless he spoke
+friendly to him; and Snap, who had had many a bit from his plate,
+could not help stopping for a minute to lick his hand. But no sooner
+did the gentleman proceed on his way, than Snap flew at his heels in
+the usual fashion--
+
+     "Yap! Yap! Yap!"
+
+On which the gentleman--being hot-tempered, and one of those people
+with whom it is (as they say) a word and a blow, and the blow
+first--made a dash at Snap, and Snap taking to his heels, the
+gentleman flung his carpet-bag after him. The bottle of shaving-cream
+hit upon a stone and was smashed. The heel of the boot caught Snap on
+the back and sent him squealing to the kitchen. And he never barked at
+that gentleman again.
+
+If the gentleman disapproved of Snap's conduct, he still less liked
+the continual snapping of the Skratdj family themselves. He was an old
+friend of Mr. and Mrs. Skratdj, however, and knew that they were
+really happy together, and that it was only a bad habit which made
+them constantly contradict each other. It was in allusion to their
+real affection for each other, and their perpetual disputing, that he
+called them the "Snapping Turtles."
+
+When the war of words waxed hottest at the dinner-table between his
+host and hostess, he would drive his hands through his shock of sandy
+hair, and say, with a comical glance out of his umber eyes, "Don't
+flirt, my friends. It makes a bachelor feel awkward."
+
+And neither Mr. nor Mrs. Skratdj could help laughing.
+
+With the little Skratdjs his measures were more vigorous. He was very
+fond of children, and a good friend to them. He grudged no time or
+trouble to help them in their games and projects, but he would not
+tolerate their snapping up each other's words in his presence. He was
+much more truly kind than many visitors, who think it polite to smile
+at the sauciness and forwardness which ignorant vanity leads children
+so often to "show off" before strangers. These civil acquaintances
+only abuse both children and parents behind their backs, for the very
+bad habits which they help to encourage.
+
+The hot-tempered gentleman's treatment of his young friends was very
+different. One day he was talking to Polly, and making some kind
+inquiries about her lessons, to which she was replying in a quiet and
+sensible fashion, when up came Master Harry, and began to display his
+wit by comments on the conversation, and by snapping at and
+contradicting his sister's remarks, to which she retorted; and the
+usual snap-dialogue went on as usual.
+
+"Then you like music?" said the hot-tempered gentleman.
+
+"Yes, I like it very much," said Polly.
+
+"Oh, do you?" Harry broke in. "Then what are you always crying over it
+for?"
+
+"I'm not always crying over it."
+
+"Yes, you are."
+
+"No, I'm not. I only cry sometimes, when I stick fast."
+
+"Your music must be very sticky, for you're always stuck fast."
+
+"Hold your tongue!" said the hot-tempered gentleman.
+
+With what he imagined to be a very waggish air, Harry put out his
+tongue, and held it with his finger and thumb. It was unfortunate that
+he had not time to draw it in again before the hot-tempered gentleman
+gave him a stinging box on the ear, which brought his teeth rather
+sharply together on the tip of his tongue, which was bitten in
+consequence.
+
+"It's no use _speaking_," said the hot-tempered gentleman, driving his
+hands through his hair.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Children are like dogs, they are very good judges of their real
+friends. Harry did not like the hot-tempered gentleman a bit the less
+because he was obliged to respect and obey him; and all the children
+welcomed him boisterously when he arrived that Christmas which we have
+spoken of in connection with his attack on Snap.
+
+It was on the morning of Christmas Eve that the china punch bowl was
+broken. Mr. Skratdj had a warm dispute with Mrs. Skratdj as to whether
+it had been kept in a safe place; after which both had a brisk
+encounter with the housemaid, who did not know how it happened; and
+she, flouncing down the back passage, kicked Snap; who forthwith flew
+at the gardener as he was bringing in the horse-radish for the beef;
+who stepping backwards trode upon the cat; who spit and swore, and
+went up the pump with her tail as big as a fox's brush.
+
+[Illustration: AND SHE FLOUNCING DOWN THE BACK PASSAGE KICKED SNAP WHO
+FORTHWITH FLEW AT THE GARDENER.]
+
+To avoid this domestic scene, the hot-tempered gentleman withdrew to
+the breakfast-room and took up a newspaper. By-and-by, Harry and Polly
+came in, and they were soon snapping comfortably over their own
+affairs in a corner.
+
+The hot-tempered gentleman's umber eyes had been looking over the top
+of his newspaper at them for some time, before he called, "Harry, my
+boy!"
+
+And Harry came up to him.
+
+"Shew me your tongue, Harry," said he.
+
+"What for?" said Harry; "you're not a doctor."
+
+"Do as I tell you," said the hot-tempered gentleman; and as Harry saw
+his hand moving, he put his tongue out with all possible haste. The
+hot-tempered gentleman sighed. "Ah!" he said in depressed tones; "I
+thought so!--Polly, come and let me look at yours."
+
+Polly, who had crept up during this process, now put out hers. But the
+hot-tempered gentleman looked gloomier still, and shook his head.
+
+"What is it?" cried both the children. "What do you mean?" And they
+seized the tips of their tongues in their fingers, to feel for
+themselves.
+
+But the hot-tempered gentleman went slowly out of the room without
+answering; passing his hands through his hair, and saying, "Ah! Hum!"
+and nodding with an air of grave foreboding.
+
+Just as he crossed the threshold, he turned back, and put his head
+into the room. "Have you ever noticed that your tongues are growing
+pointed?" he asked.
+
+"No!" cried the children with alarm. "Are they?"
+
+"If ever you find them becoming forked," said the gentleman in solemn
+tones, "let me know."
+
+With which he departed, gravely shaking his head.
+
+In the afternoon the children attacked him again.
+
+"_Do_ tell us what's the matter with our tongues."
+
+"You were snapping and squabbling just as usual this morning," said
+the hot-tempered gentleman.
+
+"Well, we forgot," said Polly. "We don't mean anything, you know. But
+never mind that now, please. Tell us about our tongues. What is going
+to happen to them?"
+
+"I'm very much afraid," said the hot-tempered gentleman, in solemn,
+measured tones, "that you are both of you--fast--going--to--the."
+
+"Dogs?" suggested Harry, who was learned in cant expressions.
+
+"Dogs!" said the hot-tempered gentleman, driving his hands through his
+hair. "Bless your life, no! Nothing half so pleasant! (That is, unless
+all dogs were like Snap, which mercifully they are not.) No, my sad
+fear is, that you are both of you--rapidly--going--_to the
+Snap-Dragons_!"
+
+And not another word would the hot-tempered gentleman say on the
+subject.
+
+
+CHRISTMAS EVE.
+
+
+In the course of a few hours Mr. and Mrs. Skratdj recovered their
+equanimity. The punch was brewed in a jug, and tasted quite as good as
+usual. The evening was very lively. There were a Christmas tree, Yule
+cakes, log, and candles, furmety, and snap-dragon after supper. When
+the company was tired of the tree, and had gained an appetite by the
+hard exercise of stretching to high branches, blowing out "dangerous"
+tapers, and cutting ribbon and pack-thread in all directions, supper
+came, with its welcome cakes and furmety and punch. And when furmety
+somewhat palled upon the taste (and it must be admitted to boast more
+sentiment than flavor as a Christmas dish), the Yule candles were
+blown out and both the spirits and the palates of the party were
+stimulated by the mysterious and pungent pleasures of snap-dragon.
+
+Then, as the hot-tempered gentleman warmed his coat-tails at the
+Yule-log, a grim smile stole over his features as he listened to the
+sounds in the room. In the darkness the blue flames leaped and danced,
+the raisins were snapped and snatched from hand to hand, scattering
+fragments of flame hither and thither. The children shouted as the
+fiery sweetmeats burnt away the mawkish taste of the furmety. Mr.
+Skratdj cried that they were spoiling the carpet; Mrs. Skratdj
+complained that he had spilled some brandy on her dress. Mr. Skratdj
+retorted that she should not wear dresses so susceptible of damage in
+the family circle. Mrs. Skratdj recalled an old speech of Mr. Skratdj
+on the subject of wearing one's nice things for the benefit of one's
+family, and not reserving them for visitors. Mr. Skratdj remembered
+that Mrs. Skratdj's excuse for buying that particular dress when she
+did not need it, was her intention of keeping it for the next year.
+The children disputed as to the credit for courage and the amount of
+raisins due to each. Snap barked furiously at the flames; and the
+maids hustled each other for good places in the doorway, and would not
+have allowed the man-servant to see at all, but he looked over their
+heads.
+
+"St! St! At it! At it!" chuckled the hot-tempered gentleman in
+undertones. And when he said this, it seemed as if the voices of Mr.
+and Mrs. Skratdj rose higher in matrimonial repartee, and the
+children's squabbles became louder, and the dog yelped as if he were
+mad, and the maids' contest was sharper; whilst the snap-dragon flames
+leaped up and up, and blue fire flew about the room like foam.
+
+At last the raisins were finished, the flames were all put out, and
+the company withdrew to the drawing-room. Only Harry lingered.
+
+"Come along, Harry," said the hot-tempered gentleman.
+
+"Wait a minute," said Harry.
+
+"You had better come," said the gentleman.
+
+"Why?" said Harry.
+
+"There's nothing to stop for. The raisins are eaten, the brandy is
+burnt out----"
+
+"No, it's not," said Harry.
+
+"Well, almost. It would be better if it were quite out. Now come. It's
+dangerous for a boy like you to be alone with the Snap-Dragons
+to-night."
+
+"Fiddle-sticks!" said Harry.
+
+"Go your own way, then!" said the hot-tempered gentleman; and he
+bounced out of the room, and Harry was left alone.
+
+
+DANCING WITH THE DRAGONS.
+
+
+He crept up to the table, where one little pale blue flame flickered
+in the snap-dragon dish.
+
+"What a pity it should go out!" said Harry. At this moment the brandy
+bottle on the side-board caught his eye.
+
+"Just a little more," murmured Harry to himself; and he uncorked the
+bottle, and poured a little brandy on to the flame.
+
+Now of course, as soon as the brandy touched the fire, all the brandy
+in the bottle blazed up at once, and the bottle split to pieces; and
+it was very fortunate for Harry that he did not get seriously hurt. A
+little of the hot brandy did get into his eyes, and made them smart,
+so that he had to shut them for a few seconds.
+
+But when he opened them again, what a sight he saw! All over the room
+the blue flames leaped and danced as they had leaped and danced in the
+soup-plate with the raisins. And Harry saw that each successive flame
+was the fold in the long body of a bright blue Dragon, which moved
+like the body of a snake. And the room was full of these Dragons. In
+the face they were like the dragons one sees made of very old blue and
+white china; and they had forked tongues, like the tongues of
+serpents. They were most beautiful in color, being sky-blue. Lobsters
+who have just changed their coats are very handsome, but the violet
+and indigo of a lobster's coat is nothing to the brilliant sky-blue of
+a Snap-Dragon.
+
+How they leaped about! They were for ever leaping over each other like
+seals at play. But if it was "play" at all with them, it was of a very
+rough kind; for as they jumped, they snapped and barked at each
+other, and their barking was like that of the barking Gnu in the
+Zoölogical Gardens; and from time to time they tore the hair out of
+each others heads with their claws, and scattered it about the floor.
+And as it dropped it was like the flecks of flame people shake from
+their fingers when they are eating snap-dragon raisins.
+
+Harry stood aghast.
+
+"What fun!" said a voice close by him; and he saw that one of the
+Dragons was lying near, and not joining in the game. He had lost one
+of the forks of his tongue by accident, and could not bark for awhile.
+
+"I'm glad you think it funny," said Harry, "I don't."
+
+"That's right. Snap away!" sneered the Dragon. "You're a perfect
+treasure. They'll take you in with them the third round."
+
+"Not those creatures?" cried Harry.
+
+"Yes, those creatures. And if I hadn't lost my bark, I'd be the first
+to lead you off," said the Dragon. "Oh, the game will exactly suit
+you."
+
+"What is it please?" Harry asked.
+
+"You'd better not say 'please' to the others," said the Dragon, "if
+you don't want to have all your hair pulled out. The game is this. You
+have always to be jumping over somebody else, and you must either talk
+or bark. If anybody speaks to you, you must snap in return. I need
+not explain what _snapping_ is. _You know._ If anyone by accident
+gives a civil answer, a claw-full of hair is torn out of his head to
+stimulate his brain. Nothing can be funnier."
+
+"I dare say it suits you capitally," said Harry; "but I'm sure we
+shouldn't like it. I mean men and women and children. It wouldn't do
+for us at all."
+
+"Wouldn't it?" said the Dragon. "You don't know how many human beings
+dance with dragons on Christmas Eve. If we are kept going in a house
+till after midnight, we can pull people out of their beds, and take
+them to dance in Vesuvius."
+
+"Vesuvius!" cried Harry.
+
+"Yes, Vesuvius. We come from Italy originally, you know. Our skins are
+the color of the Bay of Naples. We live on dried grapes and ardent
+spirits. We have glorious fun in the mountain sometimes. Oh! what
+snapping, and scratching, and tearing! Delicious! There are times when
+the squabbling becomes too great, and Mother Mountain won't stand it,
+and spits us all out, and throws cinders after us. But this is only at
+times. We had a charming meeting last year. So many human beings, and
+how they _can_ snap! It was a choice party. So very select. We always
+have plenty of saucy children, and servants. Husbands and wives too,
+and quite as many of the former as the latter, if not more. But
+besides these, we had two vestry-men, a country postmaster, who
+devoted his talents to insulting the public instead of to learning the
+postal regulations, three cabmen and two 'fares,' two young shop-girls
+from a Berlin wool shop in a town where there was no competition, four
+commercial travellers, six landladies, six Old Bailey lawyers, several
+widows from almshouses, seven single gentlemen and nine cats, who
+swore at everything; a dozen sulphur-colored screaming cockatoos; a
+lot of street children from a town; a pack of mongrel curs from the
+colonies, who snapped at the human beings' heels, and five elderly
+ladies in their Sunday bonnets with Prayer-books, who had been
+fighting for good seats in church."
+
+"Dear me!" said Harry.
+
+"If you can find nothing sharper to say than 'Dear me,'" said the
+Dragon, "you will fare badly, I can tell you. Why, I thought you'd a
+sharp tongue, but it's not forked yet, I see. Here they are, however.
+Off with you! And if you value your curls--Snap!"
+
+And before Harry could reply, the Snap-Dragons came on on their third
+round, and as they passed they swept Harry with them.
+
+He shuddered as he looked at his companions. They were as transparent
+as shrimps, but of this lovely cerulean blue. And as they leaped they
+barked--"Howf! Howf!"--like barking Gnus; and when they leaped Harry
+had to leap with them. Besides barking, they snapped and wrangled
+with each other; and in this Harry must join also.
+
+"Pleasant, isn't it?" said one of the blue Dragons.
+
+"Not at all," snapped Harry.
+
+"That's your bad taste," snapped the blue Dragon.
+
+"No, it's not!" snapped Harry.
+
+"Then it's pride and perverseness. You want your hair combing."
+
+"Oh, please don't!" shrieked Harry, forgetting himself. On which the
+Dragon clawed a handful of hair out of his head, and Harry screamed,
+and the blue Dragons barked and danced.
+
+"That made your hair curl, didn't it?" asked another Dragon, leaping
+over Harry.
+
+"That's no business of yours," Harry snapped, as well as he could for
+crying.
+
+"It's more my pleasure than business," retorted the Dragon.
+
+"Keep it to yourself, then," snapped Harry.
+
+"I mean to share it with you, when I get hold of your hair," snapped
+the Dragon.
+
+"Wait till you get the chance," Harry snapped, with desperate presence
+of mind.
+
+"Do you know whom you're talking to?" roared the Dragon; and he opened
+his mouth from ear to ear, and shot out his forked tongue in Harry's
+face; and the boy was so frightened that he forgot to snap, and cried
+piteously,
+
+"Oh, I beg your pardon, please don't!"
+
+On which the blue Dragon clawed another handful of hair out of his
+head, and all the Dragons barked as before.
+
+How long the dreadful game went on Harry never exactly knew. Well
+practised as he was in snapping in the nursery, he often failed to
+think of a retort, and paid for his unreadiness by the loss of his
+hair. Oh, how foolish and wearisome all this rudeness and snapping now
+seemed to him! But on he had to go, wondering all the time how near it
+was to twelve o'clock, and whether the Snap-Dragons would stay till
+midnight and take him with them to Vesuvius.
+
+At last, to his joy, it became evident that the brandy was coming to
+an end. The Dragons moved slower, they could not leap so high, and at
+last one after another they began to go out.
+
+"Oh, if they only all of them get away before twelve!" thought poor
+Harry.
+
+At last there was only one. He and Harry jumped about and snapped and
+barked, and Harry was thinking with joy that he was the last, when the
+clock in the hall gave that whirring sound which some clocks do before
+they strike, as if it were clearing its throat.
+
+"Oh, _please_ go!" screamed Harry in despair.
+
+The blue Dragon leaped up, and took such a claw-full of hair out of
+the boy's head, that it seemed as if part of the skin went too. But
+that leap was his last. He went out at once, vanishing before the
+first stroke of twelve. And Harry was left on his face on the floor in
+the darkness.
+
+
+CONCLUSION.
+
+
+When his friends found him there was blood on his forehead. Harry
+thought it was where the Dragon had clawed him, but they said it was a
+cut from a fragment of the broken brandy bottle. The Dragons had
+disappeared as completely as the brandy.
+
+Harry was cured of snapping. He had had quite enough of it for a
+lifetime, and the catch-contradictions of the household now made him
+shudder. Polly had not had the benefit of his experiences, and yet she
+improved also.
+
+In the first place, snapping, like other kinds of quarrelling,
+requires two parties to it, and Harry would never be a party to
+snapping any more. And when he gave civil and kind answers to Polly's
+smart speeches, she felt ashamed of herself, and did not repeat them.
+
+In the second place, she heard about the Snap-Dragons. Harry told all
+about it to her and to the hot-tempered gentleman.
+
+"Now do you think it's true?" Polly asked the hot-tempered gentleman.
+
+"Hum! Ha!" said he, driving his hands through his hair. "You know I
+warned you, you were going to the Snap-Dragons."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Harry and Polly snubbed "the little ones" when they snapped, and
+utterly discountenanced snapping in the nursery. The example and
+admonitions of elder children are a powerful instrument of nursery
+discipline, and before long there was not a "sharp tongue" amongst all
+the little Skratdjs.
+
+But I doubt if the parents ever were cured. I don't know if they heard
+the story. Besides, bad habits are not easily cured when one is old.
+
+I fear Mr. and Mrs. Skratdj have yet got to dance with the Dragons.
+
+
+
+
+DANDELION CLOCKS.
+
+
+Every child knows how to tell the time by a dandelion clock. You blow
+till the seed is all blown away, and you count each of the puffs--an
+hour to a puff. Every child knows this, and very few children want to
+know any more on the subject. It was Peter Paul's peculiarity that he
+always did want to know more about everything; a habit whose first and
+foremost inconvenience is that one can so seldom get people to answer
+one's questions.
+
+Peter Paul and his two sisters were playing in the pastures. Rich,
+green, Dutch pastures, unbroken by hedge or wall, which
+stretched--like an emerald ocean--to the horizon and met the sky. The
+cows stood ankle-deep in it and chewed the cud, the clouds sailed
+slowly over it to the sea, and on a dry hillock sat Mother, in her
+broad sun-hat, with one eye to the cows and one to the linen she was
+bleaching, thinking of her farm.
+
+Peter Paul and his sisters had found another little hillock where,
+among some tufts of meadow-flowers which the cows had not yet eaten,
+were dandelion clocks. They divided them quite fairly, and began to
+tell each other the time of day.
+
+Little Anna blew very hard for her size, and as the wind blew too, her
+clock was finished in a couple of puffs. "One, two. It's only two
+o'clock," she said, with a sigh.
+
+Her elder sister was more careful, but still the wind was against
+them. "One, two, three. It's three o'clock by me," she said.
+
+Peter Paul turned his back to the wind, and held his clock low. "One,
+two, three, four, five. It's five o'clock by my dandelion--I wonder
+why the fairy clocks all go differently."
+
+"We blow differently," said his sister.
+
+"Then they don't really tell the time," said Peter Paul.
+
+"Oh yes, they do--the fairy time." And the little girls got more
+clocks, and turned their backs to the wind in imitation of Peter Paul,
+and went on blowing. But the boy went up to his mother.
+
+"Mother, why do dandelion clocks keep different time? It was only two
+o'clock by Anna's, and three o'clock by Leena's, and five by mine. It
+can't really be evening with me and only afternoon with Anna. The days
+don't go quicker with one person than another, do they?"
+
+"Drive Daisy and Buttermilk nearer this way," said his mother; "and
+if you must ask questions, ask your Uncle Jacob."
+
+There was a reason for sending the boy to Uncle Jacob with his
+difficulties. He had been born after his father's death, and Uncle
+Jacob had taken up the paternal duties. It was he who had chosen the
+child's name. He had called him Peter Paul after Peter Paul Rubens,
+not that he hoped the boy would become a painter, but he wished him to
+be called after some great man, and--having just returned from
+Antwerp--the only great man he could think of was Peter Paul.
+
+"Give a boy a great name," said Uncle Jacob, "and if there's any stuff
+in him, there's a chance he'll live up to it."
+
+This was a kindly way of putting the proverb about giving a dog a bad
+name, and Uncle Jacob's strongest quality was kindness--kindness and
+the cultivation of tulips.
+
+He was sitting in the summer-house smoking, and reading over a
+bulb-list when Peter Paul found him.
+
+"Uncle Jacob, why do dandelion clocks tell different time to different
+people? Sixty seconds make a minute, sixty minutes make an hour,
+twenty-four hours make a day, three hundred and sixty-five days make a
+year. That's right, isn't it? Hours are the same length for everybody,
+aren't they? But if I got to tea-time when it was only two o'clock
+with Anna, and went on like that, first the days and then the years
+would go much quicker with me, and I don't know if I should die
+sooner,--but it couldn't be, could it?"
+
+"Certainly not," said Uncle Jacob; and he went on with his list.
+"Yellow Pottebakker, Yellow Tournesol and Yellow Rose."
+
+"Then the fairy clocks tells lies?" said Peter Paul.
+
+"That you must ask Godfather Time," replied Uncle Jacob, jocosely. "He
+is responsible for the clocks and the hour-glasses."
+
+"Where does he live?" asked the boy.
+
+But Uncle Jacob had spread the list on the summer-house table; he was
+fairly immersed in it and in a cloud of tobacco smoke, and Peter Paul
+did not like to disturb him.
+
+"Twenty-five Bybloemens, twenty-five Bizards, twenty-five Roses, and
+a seedling-bed for first bloom this year."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Some of Uncle Jacob's seedling tulips were still "breeders," whose
+future was yet unmarked[5] (he did not name them in hope, as he had
+christened his nephew!) when Peter Paul went to sea.
+
+[Footnote 5: The first bloom of seedling tulips is usually without
+stripes or markings, and it is often years before they break into
+stripes; till then they are called breeders, and are not named.]
+
+He was quite unfitted for a farmer. He was always looking forward to
+what he should do hereafter, or backward to the time when he believed
+in fairy clocks. Now a farmer should live in the present, and time
+himself by a steady-going watch with an enamelled face. Then little
+things get done at the right time, which is everything in farming.
+
+"Peter Paul puzzles too much," said his mother, "and that is your
+fault, Jacob, for giving him a great name. But while he's thinking,
+Daisy misses her mash and the hens lay away. He'll never make a
+farmer. Indeed, for that matter, men never farm like women, and Leena
+will take to it after me. She knows all my ways."
+
+They were a kindly family, with no minds to make this short life
+bitter for each other by thwarting, as so many well-meaning relatives
+do; so the boy chose his own trade and went to sea.
+
+He saw many places and many people; he saw a great deal of life, and
+came face to face with death more than once, and under strange shapes.
+He found answers to a lot of the old questions, and then new ones came
+in their stead. Each year seemed to hold more than a lifetime at home
+would have held, and yet how quickly the years went by!
+
+A great many had gone by when Peter Paul set foot once more upon Dutch
+soil.
+
+"And it only seems like yesterday that I went away!" said he.
+
+Mother was dead. That was the one great change. Peter Paul's sisters
+had inherited the farm. They managed it together, and they had divided
+their mother's clothes, and also her rings and earrings, her gold
+skull-cap and head-band and pins,--the heirlooms of a Dutch farmeress.
+
+"It matters very little how we divide them, dear," Anna had said, "for
+I shall never marry, and they will all go to your girl."
+
+The elder sister was married and had two children. She had grown up
+very pretty--a fair woman, with liquid misleading eyes. They looked as
+if they were gazing into the far future, but they did not see an inch
+beyond the farm. Anna was a very plain copy of her in body, in mind
+she was the elder sister's echo. They were very fond of each other,
+and the prettiest thing about them was their faithful love for their
+mother, whose memory was kept as green as pastures after rain.
+
+On Sunday Peter Paul went with them to her grave, and then to service.
+The ugly little church, the same old clerk, even the look of that part
+of the seat where Peter Paul had kicked the paint off during
+sermons--all strengthened the feeling that it could only have been a
+few days since he was there before.
+
+As they walked home he told his sisters about the various religious
+services he had seen abroad. They were curious to hear about them,
+under a sort of protest, for they disapproved of every form of worship
+but their own.
+
+"The music in some of the cathedrals is very beautiful," said Peter
+Paul. "And the choristers in their gowns, singing as they come, always
+affect me. No doubt only some are devout at heart, and others
+careless--which is also the case with the congregation--but outward
+reverence is, at the lowest, an acknowledgment of what we owe, and for
+my own part it helps me. Those white figures are not angels I know;
+but they make one think of them, and I try to be worthier of singing
+God's praises with them."
+
+There was a little pause, and Leena's beautiful eyes were full of
+reflections.
+
+Presently she said, "Who washes all the white gowns?"
+
+"I really don't know," said Peter Paul.
+
+"I fancy they don't bleach anywhere as they do in Holland," she
+continued. "Indeed, Brother, I doubt if Dutchwomen are what they were.
+No one bleaches as Mother did. Mother bleached beautifully."
+
+"Yes, she bleached beautifully," said Anna.
+
+Peter Paul was only to be three weeks at home before he sailed again;
+but when ten days were over, he began to think the rest of the time
+would never come to an end. And this was from no want of love for his
+sisters, or of respect for their friends. One cannot help having an
+irritable brain, which rides an idea to the moon and home again,
+without stirrups, whilst some folks are getting the harness of words
+on to its back. There had been hours in his youth when all the
+unsolved riddles, the untasted joys, the great possibilities of even a
+common existence like his, so pressed upon him, that the shortness of
+the longest life of man seemed the most pitiable thing about it. But
+when he took tea with Vrow Schmidt and her daughters, and supper-time
+would not come, Peter Paul thought of the penance of the Wandering
+Jew, and felt very sorry for him.
+
+The sisters would have been glad if Peter Paul would have given up the
+sea and settled down with them. Leena had a plan of her own for it.
+She wanted him to marry Vrow Schmidt's niece, who had a farm.
+
+"But I am afraid you do not care for young ladies?" said she.
+
+Peter Paul got red.
+
+"Vrow Schmidt's niece is a very nice young lady," said he.
+
+He was not thinking of Vrow Schmidt's niece, he was thinking of
+something else--something for which he would have liked a little
+sympathy; but he doubted whether Leena could give it to him. Indeed,
+to cure heartache is Godfather Time's business, and even he is not
+invariably successful. It was probably a sharp twinge that made Peter
+Paul say, "Have you never wondered that when one's life is so very
+short, one can manage to get so much pain into it?"
+
+Leena dropped her work and looked up. "You don't say so?" said she.
+"Dear Brother, is it rheumatism? I'm sure it must be a dreadful risk
+being out on the masts in the night air, without a roof over your
+head. But do you wear flannel, Peter Paul? Mother was very much
+troubled with rheumatism latterly. She thought it was the dews at
+milking time, and she always wore flannel."
+
+"Yes, dear, Mother always wore flannel," said Anna.
+
+Peter Paul satisfied them on this head. He wore flannel, red flannel
+too, which has virtues of its own.
+
+Leena was more anxious than ever that he should marry Vrow Schmidt's
+niece, and be taken good care of.
+
+But it was not to be: Peter Paul went back to his ship and into the
+wide world again.
+
+Uncle Jacob would have given him an off-set of his new tulip--a real
+novelty, and named--if he had had any place to plant it in.
+
+"I've a bed of breeders that will be worth looking at next time you
+come home," said he.
+
+Leena walked far over the pastures with Peter Paul. She was very fond
+of him, and she had a woman's perception that they would miss him
+more than he could miss them.
+
+"I am very sorry you could not settle down with us," she said, and her
+eyes brimmed over.
+
+Peter Paul kissed the tears tenderly from her cheeks.
+
+"Perhaps I shall when I am older, and have shaken off a few more of my
+whims into the sea. I'll come back yet, Leena, and live very near to
+you and grow tulips, and be as good an old bachelor-uncle to your boy
+as Uncle Jacob was to me."
+
+"And if a foreign wife would suit you better than one of the
+Schmidts," said Leena, re-arranging his bundle for him, "don't think
+we sha'n't like her. Any one you love will be welcome to us, Peter
+Paul--as welcome as you have been."
+
+When they got to the hillock where Mother used to sit, Peter Paul took
+her once more into his arms.
+
+"Good-bye, good Sister," he said. "I have been back in my childhood
+again, and God knows that is both pleasant and good for one."
+
+"And it is funny that you should say so," said Leena, smiling through
+her tears; "for when we were children you were never happy except in
+thinking of when you should be a man."
+
+"And there sit your children, just where we used to play," said Peter
+Paul.
+
+"They are blowing dandelion clocks," said Leena, and she called them.
+
+"Come and bid Uncle Peter good-bye."
+
+He kissed them both.
+
+"Well, what o'clock is it?" said he. The boy gave one mighty puff and
+dispersed his fairy clock at a breath.
+
+"One o'clock," he cried stoutly.
+
+"One, two, three, four o'clock," said the girl. And they went back to
+their play.
+
+And Leena stood by them, with Mother's old sun-hat on her young head,
+and watched Peter Paul's figure over the flat pastures till it was an
+indistinguishable speck.
+
+He turned back a dozen times to wave his hands to her, and to the
+children telling the fairy time.
+
+But he did not ask now why dandelion clocks go differently with
+different people. Godfather Time had told him. He teaches us many
+things.
+
+
+
+
+THE BLIND MAN AND THE TALKING DOG.
+
+[Illustration: THE BLIND MAN AND THE TALKING DOG.]
+
+
+There was once an old man whom Fortune (whose own eyes are bandaged)
+had deprived of his sight. She had taken his hearing also, so that he
+was deaf. Poor he had always been, and as Time had stolen his youth
+and strength from him, they had only left a light burden for death to
+carry when he should come the old man's way.
+
+But Love (who is blind also) had given the Blind Man a Dog, who led
+him out in the morning to a seat in the sun under the crab-tree, and
+held his hat for wayside alms, and brought him safely home at sunset.
+
+The Dog was wise and faithful--as dogs often are--but the wonder of
+him was that he could talk. In which will be seen the difference
+between dogs and men, most of whom can talk; whilst it is a matter for
+admiration if they are wise and faithful.
+
+One day the Mayor's little son came down the road, and by the hand he
+held his playmate Aldegunda.
+
+"Give the poor blind man a penny," said she.
+
+"You are always wanting me to give away my money," replied the boy
+peevishly. "It is well that my father is the richest man in the town,
+and that I have a whole silver crown yet in my pocket."
+
+But he put the penny into the hat which the Dog held out, and the Dog
+gave it to his master.
+
+"Heaven bless you," said the Blind Man.
+
+"Amen," said the Dog.
+
+"Aldegunda! Aldegunda!" cried the boy, dancing with delight "Here's a
+dog who can talk. I would give my silver crown for him. Old man, I
+say, old man! Will you sell me your dog for a silver crown?"
+
+"My master is deaf as well as blind," said the Dog.
+
+"What a miserable old creature he must be," said the boy
+compassionately.
+
+"Men do not smile when they are miserable, do they?" said the Dog;
+"and my master smiles sometimes--when the sun warms right through our
+coats to our bones; when he feels the hat shake against his knee as
+the pennies drop in; and when I lick his hand."
+
+"But for all that, he is a poor wretched old beggar, in want of
+everything," persisted the boy. "Now I am the Mayor's only son, and he
+is the richest man in the town. Come and live with me, and I will give
+the Blind Man my silver crown. I should be perfectly happy if I had a
+talking dog of my own."
+
+"It is worth thinking of," said the Dog. "I should certainly like a
+master who was perfectly happy. You are sure that there is nothing
+else that you wish for?"
+
+"I wish I were a man," replied the boy. "To do exactly as I chose, and
+have plenty of money to spend, and holidays all the year round."
+
+"That sounds well," said the Dog. "Perhaps I had better wait till you
+grow up. There is nothing else that you want, I suppose?"
+
+"I want a horse," said the boy, "a real black charger. My father ought
+to know that I am too old for a hobby-horse. It vexes me to look at
+it."
+
+"I must wait for the charger, I see," said the Dog. "Nothing vexes you
+but the hobby-horse, I hope?"
+
+"Aldegunda vexes me more than anything," answered the boy, with an
+aggrieved air; "and it's very hard when I am so fond of her. She
+always tumbles down when we run races, her legs are so short. It's her
+birthday to-day, but she toddles as badly as she did yesterday, though
+she's a year older."
+
+"She will have learned to run by the time that you are a man," said
+the Dog. "So nice a little lady can give you no other cause of
+annoyance, I am sure?"
+
+The boy frowned.
+
+"She is always wanting something; She wants something now, I see. What
+do you want, Aldegunda?"
+
+"I wish--" said Aldegunda, timidly, "I should like--the blind man to
+have the silver crown, and for us to keep the penny, if you can get it
+back out of the hat."
+
+"That's just the way you go on," said the boy angrily. "You always
+think differently from me. Now remember, Aldegunda, I won't marry you
+when you grow big, unless you agree with what I do, like the wife in
+the story of 'What the Goodman does is sure to be right.'"
+
+On hearing this, Aldegunda sobbed till she burst the strings of her
+hat, and the boy had to tie them afresh.
+
+"I won't marry you at all if you cry," said he.
+
+But at that she only cried the more, and they went away bickering into
+the green lanes.
+
+As to the old man, he had heard nothing; and when the dog licked his
+withered hand, he smiled.
+
+Many a time did the boy return with his playmate to try and get the
+Talking Dog. But the Dog always asked if he had yet got all that he
+wanted, and, being an honorable child, the boy was too truthful to say
+that he was content when he was not.
+
+"The day that you want nothing more but me I will be your dog," it
+said. "Unless, indeed, my present master should have attained perfect
+happiness before you."
+
+"I am not afraid of that," said the boy.
+
+In time the Mayor died, and his widow moved to her native town and
+took her son with her.
+
+Years passed, and the Blind Man lived on; for when one gets very old
+and keeps very quiet in his little corner of the world, Death seems
+sometimes to forget to remove him.
+
+Years passed, and the Mayor's son became a man, and was strong and
+rich, and had a fine black charger. Aldegunda grew up also. She was
+very beautiful, wonderfully beautiful, and Love (who is blind) gave
+her to her old playmate.
+
+The wedding was a fine one, and when it was over the bridegroom
+mounted his black charger and took his bride behind him, and rode away
+into the green lanes.
+
+"Ah, what delight!" he said. "Now we will ride through the town where
+we lived when we were children; and if the Blind Man is still alive,
+you shall give him a silver crown; and if the Talking Dog is alive, I
+shall claim him, for to-day I am perfectly happy and want nothing."
+
+Aldegunda thought to herself--"We are so happy, and have so much, that
+I do not like to take the Blind Man's dog from him;" but she did not
+dare to say so. One--if not two--must bear and forbear to be happy
+even on one's wedding day.
+
+By-and-bye they rode under the crab-tree, but the seat was empty.
+"What has become of the Blind Man?" the Mayor's son asked of a
+peasant who was near.
+
+"He died two days ago," said the peasant. "He is buried to-day, and
+the priest and chanters are now returning from the grave."
+
+"And the Talking Dog?" asked the young man.
+
+"He is at the grave now," said the peasant; "but he has neither spoken
+nor eaten since his master died."
+
+"We have come in the nick of time," said the young man triumphantly,
+and he rode to the church-yard.
+
+By the grave was the dog, as the man had said, and up the winding path
+came the priest and his young chanters, who sang with shrill, clear
+voices--"Blessed are the dead who die in the Lord."
+
+"Come and live with me, now your old master is gone," said the young
+man, stooping over the dog. But he made no reply.
+
+"I think he is dead, sir," said the grave-digger.
+
+"I don't believe it," said the young man fretfully. "He was an
+Enchanted Dog, and he promised I should have him when I could say what
+I am ready to say now. He should have kept his promise."
+
+But Aldegunda had taken the dog's cold head into her arms, and her
+tears fell fast over it.
+
+"You forget," she said; "he only promised to come to you when you
+were happy, if his old master were not happier first; and,
+perhaps,----"
+
+"I remember that you always disagree with me," said the young man,
+impatiently. "You always did do so. Tears on our wedding-day, too! I
+suppose the truth is that no one is happy."
+
+Aldegunda made no answer, for it is not from those one loves that he
+will willingly learn that with a selfish and imperious temper
+happiness never dwells.
+
+And as they rode away again into the green lanes, the shrill voices of
+the chanters followed them--"Blessed are the dead. Blessed are the
+dead."
+
+
+
+
+"SO-SO."
+
+
+"Be sure, my child," said the widow to her little daughter, "that you
+always do just as you are told."
+
+"Very well, Mother."
+
+"Or at any rate do what will do just as well," said the small
+house-dog as he lay blinking at the fire.
+
+"You darling!" cried little Joan, and she sat down on the hearth and
+hugged him. But he got up and shook himself, and moved three turns
+nearer the oven, to be out of the way; for though her arms were soft
+she had kept her doll in them, and that was made of wood, which hurts.
+
+"What a dear, kind house-dog you are!" said little Joan, and she meant
+what she said, for it does feel nice to have the sharp edges of one's
+duty a little softened off for one.
+
+He was no particular kind of a dog, but he was very smooth to stroke,
+and had a nice way of blinking with his eyes, which it was soothing to
+see. There had been a difficulty about his name. The name of the
+house-dog before him was Faithful, and well it became him, as his
+tombstone testified. The one before that was called Wolf. He was very
+wild, and ended his days on the gallows, for worrying sheep. The
+little house-dog never chased anything, to the widow's knowledge.
+There was no reason whatever for giving him a bad name, and she
+thought of several good ones, such as Faithful, and Trusty, and
+Keeper, which are fine old-fashioned titles, but none of these seemed
+quite perfectly to suit him. So he was called So-so; and a very nice
+soft name it is.
+
+The widow was only a poor woman, though she contrived by her industry
+to keep a decent home together, and to get now one and now another
+little comfort for herself and her child.
+
+One day she was going out on business, and she called her little
+daughter and said to her, "I am going out for two hours. You are too
+young to protect yourself and the house, and So-so is not as strong as
+Faithful was. But when I go, shut the house-door and bolt the big
+wooden bar, and be sure that you do not open it for any reason
+whatever till I return. If strangers come, So-so may bark, which he
+can do as well as a bigger dog. Then they will go away. With this
+summer's savings I have bought a quilted petticoat for you and a
+duffle cloak for myself against the winter, and if I get the work I am
+going after to-day, I shall buy enough wool to knit warm stockings for
+us both. So be patient till I return, and then we will have the
+plumcake that is in the cupboard for tea."
+
+"Thank you, Mother."
+
+"Good-bye, my child. Be sure and do just as I have told you," said the
+widow.
+
+"Very well, Mother."
+
+Little Joan laid down her doll, and shut the house-door, and fastened
+the big bolt. It was very heavy, and the kitchen looked gloomy when
+she had done it.
+
+"I wish Mother had taken us all three with her, and had locked the
+house and put the key in her big pocket, as she has done before," said
+little Joan, as she got into the rocking-chair, to put her doll to
+sleep.
+
+"Yes, it would have done just as well," So-so replied, as he stretched
+himself on the hearth.
+
+By-and-bye Joan grew tired of hushabying the doll, who looked none the
+sleepier for it, and she took the three-legged stool and sat down in
+front of the clock to watch the hands. After awhile she drew a deep
+sigh.
+
+"There are sixty seconds in every single minute, So-so," said she.
+
+"So I have heard," said So-so. He was snuffing in the back place,
+which was not usually allowed.
+
+"And sixty whole minutes in every hour, So-so."
+
+"You don't say so!" growled So-so. He had not found a bit, and the
+cake was on the top shelf. There was not so much as a spilt crumb,
+though he snuffed in every corner of the kitchen till he stood
+snuffing under the house-door.
+
+"The air smells fresh," he said.
+
+"It's a beautiful day, I know," said little Joan. "I wish Mother had
+allowed us to sit on the doorstep. We could have taken care of the
+house----"
+
+"Just as well," said So-so.
+
+Little Joan came to smell the air at the keyhole, and, as So-so had
+said, it smelt very fresh. Besides, one could see from the window how
+fine the evening was.
+
+"It's not exactly what Mother told us to do," said Joan, "but I do
+believe----"
+
+"It would do just as well," said So-so.
+
+By-and-bye little Joan unfastened the bar, and opened the door, and
+she and the doll and So-so went out and sat on the doorstep.
+
+Not a stranger was to be seen. The sun shone delightfully. An evening
+sun, and not too hot. All day it had been ripening the corn in the
+field close by, and this glowed and waved in the breeze.
+
+"It does just as well, and better," said little Joan, "for if anyone
+comes we can see him coming up the field-path."
+
+"Just so," said So-so, blinking in the sunshine.
+
+Suddenly Joan jumped up.
+
+"Oh!" cried she, "there's a bird, a big bird. Dear So-so, can you see
+him? I can't, because of the sun. What a queer noise he makes. Crake!
+crake! Oh, I can see him now! He is not flying, he is running, and he
+has gone into the corn. I do wish I were in the corn, I would catch
+him, and put him in a cage."
+
+"I'll catch him," said So-so, and he put up his tail, and started off.
+
+"No, no!" cried Joan. "You are not to go. You must stay and take care
+of the house, and bark if anyone comes."
+
+"You could scream, and that would do just as well," replied So-so,
+with his tail still up.
+
+"No, it wouldn't," cried little Joan.
+
+"Yes, it would," reiterated So-so.
+
+Whilst they were bickering, an old woman came up to the door; she had
+a brown face, and black hair, and a very old red cloak.
+
+"Good evening, my little dear," said she. "Are you all at home this
+fine evening?"
+
+"Only three of us," said Joan; "I, and my doll, and So-so. Mother has
+gone to the town on business, and we are taking care of the house, but
+So-so wants to go after the bird we saw run into the corn."
+
+"Was it a pretty bird, my little dear?" asked the old woman.
+
+"It was a very curious one," said Joan, "and I should like to go after
+it myself, but we can't leave the house."
+
+"Dear, dear! Is there no neighbor would sit on the doorstep for you
+and keep the house till you just slip down to the field after the
+curious bird?" said the old woman.
+
+"I'm afraid not," said little Joan. "Old Martha, our neighbor, is now
+bedridden. Of course, if she had been able to mind the house instead
+of us, it would have done just as well."
+
+"I have some distance to go this evening," said the old woman, "but I
+do not object to a few minutes' rest, and sooner than that you should
+lose the bird I will sit on the doorstep to oblige you, while you run
+down to the cornfield."
+
+"But can you bark if anyone comes?" asked little Joan. "For if you
+can't, So-so must stay with you."
+
+"I can call you and the dog if I see anyone coming, and that will do
+just as well," said the old woman.
+
+"So it will," replied little Joan, and off she ran to the cornfield,
+where, for that matter, So-so had run before her, and was bounding and
+barking and springing among the wheat-stalks.
+
+They did not catch the bird, though they stayed longer than they had
+intended, and though So-so seemed to know more about hunting than was
+supposed.
+
+"I daresay Mother has come home," said little Joan, as they went back
+up the field-path. "I hope she won't think we ought to have stayed in
+the house."
+
+"It was taken care of," said So-so, and "that must do just as well."
+
+When they reached the house, the widow had not come home.
+
+But the old woman had gone, and she had taken the quilted petticoat
+and the duffle cloak, and the plumcake from the top shelf away with
+her; and no more was ever heard of any of the lot.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+"For the future, my child," said the widow, "I hope you will always do
+just as you are told, whatever So-so may say."
+
+"I will, Mother," said little Joan. (And she did.) But the house-dog
+sat and blinked. He dared not speak, he was in disgrace.
+
+I do not feel quite sure about So-so. Wild dogs often amend their ways
+far on this side of the gallows, and the Faithful sometimes fall; but
+when anyone begins by being only So-so, he is very apt to be So-so to
+the end. So-sos so seldom change.
+
+But this one was _very_ soft and nice, and he got no cake that
+tea-time. On the whole we will hope that he lived to be a Good Dog
+ever after.
+
+
+
+
+THE TRINITY FLOWER.
+
+A Legend.
+
+    "Break forth, my lips, in praise, and own
+      The wiser love severely kind:
+    Since, richer for its chastening grown,
+      I see, whereas I once was blind."
+
+--_The Clear Vision_, J. G. WHITTIER.
+
+
+In days of yore there was once a certain hermit, who dwelt in a cell,
+which he had fashioned for himself from a natural cave in the side of
+a hill.
+
+Now this hermit had a great love for flowers, and was moreover learned
+in the virtues of herbs, and in that great mystery of healing which
+lies hidden among the green things of GOD. And so it came to pass that
+the country people from all parts came to him for the simples which
+grew in the little garden which he had made before his cell. And as
+his fame spread, and more people came to him, he added more and more
+to the plat which he had reclaimed from the waste land around.
+
+But after many years there came a Spring when the colors of the
+flowers seemed paler to the hermit than they used to be; and as Summer
+drew on, their shapes, became indistinct, and he mistook one plant
+for another; and when Autumn came, he told them by their various
+scents, and by their form, rather than by sight; and when the flowers
+were gone, and Winter had come, the hermit was quite blind.
+
+Now in the hamlet below there lived a boy who had become known to the
+hermit on this manner. On the edge of the hermit's garden there grew
+two crab trees, from the fruit of which he made every year a certain
+confection, which was very grateful to the sick. One year many of
+these crab-apples were stolen, and the sick folk of the hamlet had
+very little conserve. So the following year, as the fruit was
+ripening, the hermit spoke every day to those who came to his cell,
+saying:--
+
+"I pray you, good people, to make it known that he who robs these crab
+trees, robs not me alone, which is dishonest, but the sick, which is
+inhuman."
+
+And yet once more the crab-apples were taken.
+
+The following evening, as the hermit sat on the side of the hill, he
+overheard two boys disputing about the theft.
+
+"It must either have been a very big man, or a small boy, to do it,"
+said one. "So I say, and I have my reason."
+
+"And what is thy reason, Master Wiseacre?" asked the other.
+
+"The fruit is too high to be plucked except by a very big man," said
+the first boy. "And the branches are not strong enough for any but a
+child to climb."
+
+"Canst thou think of no other way to rob an apple tree but by standing
+a-tip-toe, or climbing up to the apples, when they should come down to
+thee?" said the second boy. "Truly thy head will never save thy heels;
+but here's a riddle for thee:
+
+    Riddle me riddle me re,
+    Four big brothers are we;
+    We gather the fruit, but climb never a tree.
+
+Who are they?"
+
+"Four tall robbers, I suppose," said the other.
+
+"Tush!" cried his comrade. "They are the four winds; and when they
+whistle, down falls the ripest. But others can shake besides the
+winds, as I will show thee if thou hast any doubts in the matter."
+
+And as he spoke he sprang to catch the other boy, who ran from him;
+and they chased each other down the hill, and the hermit heard no
+more.
+
+But as he turned to go home he said, "The thief was not far away when
+thou stoodst near. Nevertheless, I will have patience. It needs not
+that I should go to seek thee, for what saith the Scripture? _Thy sin_
+will find thee out." And he made conserve of such apples as were left,
+and said nothing.
+
+Now after a certain time a plague broke out in the hamlet; and it was
+so sore, and there were so few to nurse the many who were sick, that,
+though it was not the wont of the hermit ever to leave his place, yet
+in their need he came down and ministered to the people in the
+village. And one day, as he passed a certain house, he heard moans
+from within, and entering, he saw lying upon a bed a boy who tossed
+and moaned in fever, and cried out most miserably that his throat was
+parched and burning. And when the hermit looked upon his face, behold
+it was the boy who had given the riddle of the four winds upon the
+side of the hill.
+
+Then the hermit fed him with some of the confection which he had with
+him, and it was so grateful to the boy's parched palate, that he
+thanked and blessed the hermit aloud, and prayed him to leave a morsel
+of it behind, to soothe his torments in the night.
+
+Then said the hermit, "My Son, I would that I had more of this
+confection, for the sake of others as well as for thee. But indeed I
+have only two trees which bear the fruit whereof this is made; and in
+two successive years have the apples been stolen by some thief,
+thereby robbing not only me, which is dishonest, but the poor, which
+is inhuman."
+
+Then the boy's theft came back to his mind, and he burst into tears,
+and cried, "My Father, I took the crab-apples!"
+
+And after awhile he recovered his health; the plague also abated in
+the hamlet, and the hermit went back to his cell. But the boy would
+thenceforth never leave him, always wishing to show his penitence and
+gratitude. And though the hermit sent him away, he ever returned,
+saying,
+
+"Of what avail is it to drive me from thee, since I am resolved to
+serve thee, even as Samuel served Eli, and Timothy ministered unto St.
+Paul?"
+
+But the hermit said, "My rule is to live alone, and without
+companions; wherefore begone."
+
+And when the boy still came, he drove him from the garden.
+
+Then the boy wandered far and wide, over moor and bog, and gathered
+rare plants and herbs, and laid them down near the hermit's cell. And
+when the hermit was inside, the boy came into the garden, and gathered
+the stones and swept the paths, and tied up such plants as were
+drooping, and did all neatly and well, for he was a quick and skilful
+lad. And when the hermit said,
+
+"Thou hast done well, and I thank thee; but now begone," he only
+answered,
+
+"What avails it, when I am resolved to serve thee?"
+
+So at last there came a day when the hermit said, "It may be that it
+is ordained; wherefore abide, my Son."
+
+And the boy answered, "Even so, for I am resolved to serve thee."
+
+Thus he remained. And thenceforward the hermit's garden throve as it
+had never thriven before. For, though he had skill, the hermit was old
+and feeble; but the boy was young and active, and he worked hard, and
+it was to him a labor of love. And being a clever boy, he quickly knew
+the names and properties of the plants as well as the hermit himself.
+And when he was not working, he would go far afield to seek for new
+herbs. And he always returned to the village at night.
+
+Now when the hermit's sight began to fail, the boy put him right if he
+mistook one plant for another; and when the hermit became quite blind,
+he relied completely upon the boy to gather for him the herbs that he
+wanted. And when anything new was planted, the boy led the old man to
+the spot, that he might know that it was so many paces in such a
+direction from the cell, and might feel the shape and texture of the
+leaves, and learn its scent. And through the skill and knowledge of
+the boy, the hermit was in no wise hindered from preparing his
+accustomed remedies, for he knew the names and virtues of the herbs,
+and where every plant grew. And when the sun shone, the boy would
+guide his master's steps into the garden, and would lead him up to
+certain flowers; but to those which had a perfume of their own the old
+man could go without help, being guided by the scent. And as he
+fingered their leaves and breathed their fragrance, he would say,
+"Blessed be GOD for every herb of the field, but thrice blessed for
+those that smell."
+
+And at the end of the garden was set a bush of rosemary. "For," said
+the hermit, "to this we must all come." Because rosemary is the herb
+they scatter over the dead. And he knew where almost everything grew,
+and what he did not know the boy told him.
+
+Yet for all this, and though he had embraced poverty and solitude with
+joy, in the service of GOD and man, yet so bitter was blindness to
+him, that he bewailed the loss of his sight, with a grief that never
+lessened.
+
+"For," said he, "if it had pleased our Lord to send me any other
+affliction, such as a continual pain or a consuming sickness, I would
+have borne it gladly, seeing it would have left me free to see these
+herbs, which I use for the benefit of the poor. But now the sick
+suffer through my blindness, and to this boy also I am a continual
+burden."
+
+And when the boy called him at the hours of prayer, saying, "My
+Father, it is now time for the Nones office, for the marigold is
+closing," or, "The Vespers bell will soon sound from the valley, for
+the bindweed bells are folded," and the hermit recited the appointed
+prayers, he always added,
+
+"I beseech Thee take away my blindness, as Thou didst heal Thy servant
+the son of Timeaus."
+
+And as the boy and he sorted herbs, he cried,
+
+"Is there no balm in Gilead?"
+
+And the boy answered, "The balm of Gilead grows six full paces from
+the gate, my Father."
+
+But the hermit said, "I spoke in a figure, my Son. I meant not that
+herb. But, alas! Is there no remedy to heal the physician? No cure for
+the curer?"
+
+And the boy's heart grew heavier and heavier day by day, because of
+the hermit's grief. For he loved him.
+
+Now one morning as the boy came up from the village, the hermit met
+him, groping painfully with his hands, but with joy in his
+countenance, and he said, "Is that thy step my Son? Come in, for I
+have somewhat to tell thee."
+
+And he said, "A vision has been vouchsafed to me, even a dream.
+Moreover, I believe that there shall be a cure for my blindness."
+
+Then the boy was glad, and begged of the hermit to relate his dream,
+which he did as follows--
+
+"I dreamed, and behold I stood in the garden--thou also with me--and
+many people were gathered at the gate, to whom, with thy help, I gave
+herbs of healing in such fashion as I have been able since this
+blindness came upon me. And when they were gone, I smote upon my
+forehead, and said, 'Where is the herb that shall heal my affliction?'
+And a voice beside me said, 'Here, my Son,' And I cried to thee, 'Who
+spoke?' And thou saidst, 'It is a man in pilgrim's weeds, and lo, he
+hath a strange flower in his hand.' Then said the Pilgrim, 'It is a
+Trinity Flower. Moreover, I suppose that when thou hast it, thou wilt
+see clearly.' Then I thought that thou didst take the flower from the
+Pilgrim and put it in my hand. And lo, my eyes were opened, and I saw
+clearly. And I knew the Pilgrim's face, though where I have seen him I
+cannot yet recall. But I believed him to be Raphael the Archangel--he
+who led Tobias, and gave sight to his father. And even as it came to
+me to know him, he vanished; and I saw him no more."
+
+"And what was the Trinity Flower like, my Father?" asked the boy.
+
+"It was about the size of Herb Paris, my son," replied the hermit.
+"But instead of being fourfold every way, it numbered the mystic
+Three. Every part was threefold. The leaves were three, the petals
+three, the sepals three. The flower was snow-white, but on each of the
+three parts it was stained with crimson stripes, like white garments
+dyed in blood."[6]
+
+[Footnote 6: _Trillium erythrocarpum_. North America.]
+
+Then the boy started up, saying, "If there be such a plant on the
+earth I will find it for thee."
+
+But the hermit laid his hand on him, and said, "Nay, my Son, leave me
+not, for I have need of thee. And the flower will come yet, and then I
+shall see."
+
+And all day long the old man murmured to himself, "Then I shall see."
+
+"And didst thou see me, and the garden, in thy dream, my Father?"
+asked the boy.
+
+"Ay, that I did, my Son. And I meant to say to thee that it much
+pleaseth me that thou art grown so well, and of such a strangely fair
+countenance. Also the garden is such as I have never before beheld it,
+which must needs be due to thy care. But wherefore didst thou not tell
+me of those fair palms that have grown where the thorn hedge was wont
+to be? I was but just stretching out my hand for some, when I awoke."
+
+"There are no palms there, my Father," said the boy.
+
+"Now, indeed it is thy youth that makes thee so little observant,"
+said the hermit. "However, I pardon thee, if it were only for that
+good thought which moved thee to plant a yew beyond the rosemary bush;
+seeing that the yew is the emblem of eternal life, which lies beyond
+the grave."
+
+But the boy said, "There is no yew there, my Father."
+
+"Have I not seen it, even in a vision?" cried the hermit. "Thou wilt
+say next that all the borders are not set with hearts-ease, which
+indeed must be through thy industry; and whence they come I know not,
+but they are most rare and beautiful, and my eyes long sore to see
+them again."
+
+"Alas, my Father!" cried the boy, "the borders are set with rue, and
+there are but a few clumps of hearts-ease here and there."
+
+"Could I forget what I saw in an hour?" asked the old man angrily.
+"And did not the holy Raphael himself point to them, saying, 'Blessed
+are the eyes that behold this garden, where the borders are set with
+hearts-ease, and the hedges crowned with palm!' But thou wouldst know
+better than an archangel, forsooth."
+
+Then the boy wept; and when the hermit heard him weeping, he put his
+arm round him and said,
+
+"Weep not, my dear Son. And I pray thee, pardon me that I spoke
+harshly to thee. For indeed I am ill-tempered by reason of my
+infirmities; and as for thee, GOD will reward thee for thy goodness to
+me, as I never can. Moreover, I believe it is thy modesty, which is as
+great as thy goodness, that hath hindered thee from telling me of all
+that thou hast done for my garden, even to those fair and sweet
+everlasting flowers, the like of which I never saw before, which thou
+hast set in the east border, and where even now I hear the bees
+humming in the sun."
+
+Then the boy looked sadly out into the garden, and answered,
+
+"I cannot lie to thee. There are no everlasting flowers. It is the
+flowers of the thyme in which the bees are rioting. And in the hedge
+bottom there creepeth the bitter-sweet."
+
+But the hermit heard him not. He had groped his way out into the
+sunshine, and wandered up and down the walks, murmuring to himself,
+"Then I shall see."
+
+Now when the Summer was past, one Autumn morning there came to the
+garden gate a man in pilgrim's weeds; and when he saw the boy he
+beckoned to him, and giving him a small tuber root, he said,
+
+"Give this to thy master. It is the root of the Trinity Flower."
+
+And he passed on down towards the valley.
+
+Then the boy ran hastily to the hermit; and when he had told him, and
+given him the root, he said,
+
+"The face of the pilgrim is known to me also, O my Father! For I
+remember when I lay sick of the plague, that ever it seemed to me as
+if a shadowy figure passed in and out, and went up and down the
+streets, and his face was as the face of this pilgrim. But--I cannot
+deceive thee--methought it was the Angel of Death."
+
+Then the hermit mused; and after a little space he answered,
+
+"It was then also that I saw him. I remember now. Nevertheless, let us
+plant the root, and abide what GOD shall send."
+
+And thus they did.
+
+[Illustration: HE HAD GROPED HIS WAY OUT INTO THE SUNSHINE AND
+WANDERED UP AND DOWN THE WALKS.]
+
+And as the Autumn and Winter went by, the hermit became very feeble,
+but the boy constantly cheered him, saying, "Patience, my Father.
+Thou shalt see yet!"
+
+But the hermit replied, "My son, I repent me that I have not been
+patient under affliction. Moreover, I have set thee an ill example, in
+that I have murmured at that which GOD--Who knowest best--ordained for
+me."
+
+And when the boy ofttimes repeated, "Thou shalt yet see," the hermit
+answered, "If GOD will. When GOD will. As GOD will."
+
+And when he said the prayers for the Hours, he no longer added what he
+had added beforetime, but evermore repeated, "If THOU wilt. When THOU
+wilt. As THOU wilt."
+
+And so the Winter passed; and when the snow lay on the ground the boy
+and the hermit talked of the garden; and the boy no longer
+contradicted the old man, though he spoke continually of the
+hearts-ease, and the everlasting flowers, and the palm. For he said,
+"When Spring comes I may be able to get these plants, and fit the
+garden to his vision."
+
+And at length the Spring came. And with it rose the Trinity Flower.
+And when the leaves unfolded, they were three, as the hermit had said.
+Then the boy was wild with joy and with impatience. And when the sun
+shone for two days together, he would kneel by the flower, and say, "I
+pray thee, Lord, send showers, that it may wax apace." And when it
+rained he said, "I pray Thee, send sunshine, that it may blossom
+speedily." For he knew not what to ask. And he danced about the
+hermit, and cried, "Soon shalt thou see."
+
+But the hermit trembled, and said, "Not as I will, but as THOU wilt!"
+
+And so the bud formed. And at length one evening, before he went down
+to the hamlet, the boy came to the hermit and said, "The bud is almost
+breaking, my Father. To-morrow thou shalt see."
+
+Then the hermit moved his hands till he laid them on the boy's head,
+and he said,
+
+"The Lord repay thee sevenfold for all thou hast done for me, dear
+child. And now I pray thee, my Son, give me thy pardon for all in
+which I have sinned against thee by word or deed, for indeed my
+thoughts of thee have ever been tender." And when the boy wept, the
+hermit still pressed him, till he said that he forgave him. And as
+they unwillingly parted, the hermit said, "I pray thee, dear Son, to
+remember that, though late, I conformed myself to the will of GOD."
+
+Saying which, the hermit went into his cell, and the boy returned to
+the village.
+
+But so great was his anxiety, that he could not rest; and he returned
+to the garden ere it was light, and sat by the flower till the dawn.
+
+And with the first dim light he saw that the Trinity Flower was in
+bloom. And as the hermit had said, it was white, and stained with
+crimson as with blood.
+
+Then the boy shed tears of joy, and he plucked the flower and ran into
+the hermit's cell, where the hermit lay very still upon his couch. And
+the boy said, "I will not disturb him. When he wakes he will find the
+flower." And he went out and sat down outside the cell and waited. And
+being weary as he waited, he fell asleep.
+
+Now before sunrise, whilst it was yet early, he was awakened by the
+voice of the hermit crying, "My Son, my dear Son!" and he jumped up,
+saying, "My Father!"
+
+But as he spoke the hermit passed him. And as he passed he turned, and
+the boy saw that his eyes were open. And the hermit fixed them long
+and tenderly on him.
+
+Then the boy cried, "Ah, tell me, my Father, dost thou see?"
+
+And he answered, "_I see now!_" and so passed on down the walk.
+
+And as he went through the garden, in the still dawn, the boy
+trembled, for the hermit's footsteps gave no sound. And he passed
+beyond the rosemary bush, and came not again.
+
+And when the day wore on, and the hermit did not return, the boy went
+into his cell.
+
+Without, the sunshine dried the dew from paths on which the hermit's
+feet had left no prints, and cherished the spring flowers bursting
+into bloom. But within, the hermit's dead body lay stretched upon his
+pallet, and the Trinity Flower was in his hand.
+
+
+
+
+THE KYRKEGRIM TURNED PREACHER.
+
+A Legend
+
+
+It is said that in Norway every church has its own Niss, or Brownie.
+
+They are of the same race as the Good People, who haunt farmhouses,
+and do the maids' work for a pot of cream. They are the size of a
+year-old child, but their faces are the faces of aged men. Their
+common dress is of grey home-spun, with red peaked caps; but on
+Michaelmas Day they wear round hats.
+
+The Church Niss is called Kyrkegrim. His duty is to keep the church
+clean, and to scatter the marsh-marigold flowers on the floor before
+service. He also keeps order in the congregation, pinches those who
+fall asleep, cuffs irreverent boys, and hustles mothers with crying
+children out of church as quickly and decorously as possible.
+
+But his business is not with church-brawlers alone.
+
+When the last snow avalanche has slipped from the high-pitched roof,
+and the gentian is bluer than the sky, and Baldur's Eyebrow blossoms
+in the hot spring sun, pious folk are wont to come to church some
+time before service, and to bring their spades, and rakes, and
+watering-pots with them, to tend the graves of the dead. The Kyrkegrim
+sits on the Lych Gate and overlooks them.
+
+At those who do not lay by their tools in good time he throws pebbles,
+crying to each, "_Skynde dig!_" (Make haste!), and so drives them in.
+And when the bells begin, should any man fail to bow to the church as
+the custom is, the Kyrkegrim snatches his hat from behind, and he sees
+it no more.
+
+Nothing displeases the Kyrkegrim more than when people fall asleep
+during the sermon. This will be seen in the following story.
+
+Once upon a time there was a certain country church, which was served
+by a very mild and excellent priest, and haunted by a most active
+Kyrkegrim.
+
+Not a speck of dust was to be seen from the altar to the porch, and
+the behavior of the congregation was beyond reproach.
+
+But there was one fat farmer who slept during the sermon, and do what
+the Kyrkegrim would, he could not keep him awake. Again and again did
+he pinch him, nudge him, or let in a cold draught of wind upon his
+neck. The fat farmer shook himself, pulled up his neck-kerchief, and
+dozed off again.
+
+"Doubtless the fault is in my sermons," said the priest, when the
+Kyrkegrim complained to him. For he was humble-minded.
+
+But the Kyrkegrim knew that this was not the case, for there was no
+better preacher in all the district.
+
+And yet when he overheard the farmer's sharp-tongued little wife speak
+of this and that in the discourse, he began to think it might be so.
+No doubt the preacher spoke somewhat fast or slow, a little too loud
+or too soft. And he was not "stirring" enough, said the farmer's wife;
+a failing which no one had ever laid at her door.
+
+"His soul is in my charge," sighed the good priest, "and I cannot even
+make him hear what I have got to say. A heavy reckoning will be
+demanded of me!"
+
+"The sermons are in fault, beyond a doubt," the Kyrkegrim said. "The
+farmer's wife is quite right. She's a sensible woman, and can use a
+mop as well as myself."
+
+"Hoot, hoot!" cried the church owl, pushing his head out of the
+ivy-bush. "And shall she be Kyrkegrim when thou art turned preacher,
+and the preacher sits on the judgment seat? Not so, little Niss! Dust
+thou the pulpit, and leave the parson to preach, and let the Maker of
+souls reckon with them."
+
+"If the preacher cannot keep the people awake, it is time that another
+took his place," said the Kyrkegrim.
+
+"He is not bound to find ears as well as arguments," retorted the
+owl, and he drew back into his ivy bush.
+
+But the Kyrkegrim settled his red cap firmly on his head, and betook
+himself to the priest, whose meekness (as is apt to be the case)
+encouraged the opposite qualities in those with whom he had to do.
+
+"The farmer must be roused somehow," said he. "It is a disgrace to us
+all, and what, in all the hundreds of years I have been Kyrkegrim,
+never befell me before. It will be well if next Sunday you preach a
+stirring sermon on some very important subject."
+
+So the preacher preached on Sin--fair of flower, and bitter of
+fruit!--and as he preached his own cheeks grew pale for other men's
+perils, and the Kyrkegrim trembled as he sat listening in the porch,
+though he had no soul to lose.
+
+"Was that stirring enough?" he asked, twitching the sleeve of the
+farmer's wife as she flounced out after service.
+
+"Splendid!" said she, "and must have hit some folk pretty hard too."
+
+"It kept your husband awake this time, I should think," said the
+Kyrkegrim.
+
+"Heighty teighty!" cried the farmer's wife. "I'd have you to know my
+good man is as decent a body as any in the parish, if he does take a
+nap on Sundays! He is no sinner if he is no saint, thank Heaven, and
+the parson knows better than to preach at him."
+
+"Next Sunday," said the Kyrkegrim to the priest, "preach about
+something which concerns everyone; respectable people as well as
+others."
+
+So the preacher preached of Death--whom tears cannot move, nor riches
+bribe, nor power defy. The uncertain interruption and the only certain
+end of all life's labors! And as he preached, the women sitting in
+their seats wept for the dead whose graves they had been tending, and
+down the aged cheeks of the Kyrkegrim there stole tears of pity for
+poor men, whose love and labors are cut short so soon.
+
+But the farmer slept as before.
+
+"Do you expect to die?" asked the Kyrkegrim.
+
+"Surely," replied the farmer, "we must all die some day, and one does
+not need a preacher to tell him that. But it was a funeral sermon, my
+wife thinks. There has been bereavement in the miller's family."
+
+"Men are a strange race," thought the Kyrkegrim; but he went to the
+priest and said--"The farmer is not afraid of death. You must find
+some subject of which men really stand in awe."
+
+So when Sunday came round again, the preacher preached of
+Judgment--that dread Avenger who dogs the footsteps of trespass, even
+now! That awful harvest of whirlwind and corruption which they must
+reap who sow to the wind and to the flesh! Lightly regarded, but
+biding its time, till a man's forgotten follies find him out at last.
+
+But the farmer slept on. He did not wake when the preacher spoke of
+judgment to come, the reckoning that cannot be shunned, the trump of
+the Archangel, and the Day of Doom.
+
+"On Michaelmas Day I shall preach myself," said the Kyrkegrim, "and if
+I cannot rouse him, I shall give up my charge here."
+
+This troubled the poor priest, for so good a Kyrkegrim was not likely
+to be found again.
+
+Nevertheless he consented, for he was very meek, and when Michaelmas
+Day came the Kyrkegrim pulled a preacher's gown over his home-spun
+coat, and laid his round hat on the desk by the iron-clamped Bible,
+and began his sermon.
+
+"I shall give no text," said he, "but when I have said what seems good
+to me, it is for those who hear to see if the Scriptures bear me out."
+
+This was an uncommon beginning, and most of the good folk pricked
+their ears, the farmer among them, for novelty is agreeable in church
+as elsewhere.
+
+"I speak," said the Kyrkegrim, "of that which is the last result of
+sin, the worst of deaths, and the beginning of judgment--hardness of
+heart."
+
+The farmer looked a little uncomfortable, and the Kyrkegrim went
+bravely on.
+
+"Let us seek examples in Scripture. We will speak of Pharaoh."
+
+But when the Kyrkegrim spoke of Pharaoh the farmer was at ease again.
+And by-and-bye a film stole gently before his eyes, and he nodded in
+his seat.
+
+This made the Kyrkegrim very angry, for he did not wish to give up his
+place, and yet a Niss may not break his word.
+
+"Let us look at the punishment of Pharaoh," he cried. But the farmer's
+eyes were still closed, and the Kyrkegrim became agitated, and turned
+hastily over the leaves of the iron-clamped Bible before him.
+
+"We will speak of the plagues," said he. "The plague of blood, the
+plague of frogs, the plague of lice, the plague of flies----"
+
+At this moment the farmer snored.
+
+For a brief instant anger and dismay kept the Kyrkegrim silent. Then
+shutting the iron clamps he pushed the Book on one side, and
+scrambling on to a stool, stretched his little body well over the
+desk, and said, "But these flies were as nothing to the fly that is
+coming in the turnip-crop!"
+
+The words were hardly out of his mouth when the farmer sat suddenly
+upright and half rising from his place, cried anxiously, "Eh, what
+sir? What does he say, wife? A new fly among the turnips?"
+
+"Ah, soul of clay!" yelled the indignant Kyrkegrim, as he hurled his
+round hat at the gaping farmer. "Is it indeed for such as thee that
+Eternal Life is kept in store?"
+
+And drawing the preacher's gown over his head, he left it in the
+pulpit, and scrambling down the steps hastened out of church.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+As he had been successful in rousing the sleepy farmer the Kyrkegrim
+did not abandon his duties; but it is said that thenceforward he kept
+to them alone, and left heavier responsibilities in higher hands.
+
+
+
+
+LADDERS TO HEAVEN.[7]
+
+A Legend.
+
+
+There was a certain valley in which the grass was very green, for it
+was watered by a stream which never failed; and once upon a time
+certain pious men withdrew from the wide world and from their separate
+homes, and made a home in common, and a little world for themselves,
+in the valley where the grass was green.
+
+[Footnote 7: "Ladders to Heaven" was an old name for Lilies of the
+Valley.]
+
+The world outside, in those days, was very rough and full of wars; but
+the little world in the Green Valley was quiet and full of peace. And
+most of these men who had taken each other for brothers, and had made
+one home there, were happy, and being good deserved to be so. And some
+of them were good with the ignorant innocence of children, and there
+were others who had washed their robes and made them white in the
+Blood of the Lamb.
+
+Brother Benedict was so named, because where he came blessings
+followed. This was said of him, from a child, when the babies stopped
+crying if he ran up to them, and when on the darkest days old women
+could see sunbeams playing in his hair. He had always been fond of
+flowers, and as there were not many things in the Brotherhood of the
+Green Valley on which a man could full-spend his energies, when
+prayers were said, and duties done, Brother Benedict spent the balance
+of his upon the garden. And he grew herbs for healing, and plants that
+were good for food, and flowers that were only pleasant to the eyes;
+and where he sowed he reaped, and what he planted prospered, as if
+blessings followed him.
+
+In time the fame of his flowers spread beyond the valley, and people
+from the world outside sent to beg plants and seeds of him, and sent
+him others in return. And he kept a roll of the plants that he
+possessed, and the list grew longer with every Autumn and every
+Spring; so that the garden of the monastery became filled with rare
+and curious things, in which Brother Benedict took great pride.
+
+The day came when he thought that he took too much pride. For he said,
+"The cares of the garden are, after all, cares of this world, and I
+have set my affections upon things of the earth," And at last it so
+troubled him that he obtained leave to make a pilgrimage to the cell
+of an old hermit, whose wisdom was much esteemed, and to him he told
+his fears.
+
+But when Brother Benedict had ended his tale, the old man said, "Go
+in peace. What a man labors for he must love, if he be made in the
+image of his Maker; for He rejoices in the works of His hands."
+
+So Brother Benedict returned, and his conscience was at ease till the
+Autumn, when a certain abbot, who spent much care and pains upon his
+garden, was on a journey, and rested at the Monastery of the Green
+Valley. And it appeared that he had more things in his garden than
+Brother Benedict, for the abbey was very rich, and he had collected
+far and near. And Brother Benedict was jealous for the garden of the
+monastery, and then he was wrath with himself for his jealousy; and
+when the abbot had gone he obtained leave, and made a pilgrimage to
+the cell of the hermit and told him all. And the old man, looking at
+him, loved him, and he said:
+
+"My son, a man may bind his soul with fine-drawn strands till it is
+either entangled in a web or breaks all bonds. Gird thyself with one
+strong line, and let little things go by."
+
+And Benedict said, "With which line?"
+
+And the hermit answered, "What said Augustine? 'Love, and do what thou
+wilt.' If therefore thy labors and thy pride be for others, and not
+for thyself, have no fear. He who lives for GOD and for his neighbors
+may forget his own soul in safety, and shall find it hereafter; for
+for such a spirit--of the toils and pains and pleasures of this
+life--grace shall alike build Ladders unto Heaven."
+
+Then Benedict bowed his head, and departed; and when he reached home
+he found a messenger who had ridden for many days, and who brought him
+a bundle of roots, and a written message, which ran thus:
+
+"These roots, though common with us, are unknown where thou dwellest.
+It is a lily, as white and as fragrant as the Lily of the
+Annunciation, but much smaller. Beautiful as it is, it is hardy, and
+if planted in a damp spot and left strictly undisturbed it will spread
+and flourish like a weed. It hath a rare and delicate perfume, and
+having white bells on many footstalks up the stem, one above the
+other, as the angels stood in Jacob's dream, the common children call
+it Ladders to Heaven."
+
+And when Brother Benedict read the first part of the letter he laughed
+hastily, and said, "The abbot hath no such lily." But when he had
+finished it, he said, "GOD rid my soul of self-seeking! The common
+children shall have them, and not I."
+
+And, seizing the plants and a spade, he ran out beyond the bounds of
+the monastery, and down into a little copse where the earth was kept
+damp by the waters of the stream which never failed. And there he
+planted the roots, and as he turned to go away he said, "The blessing
+of our Maker rest on thee! And give joy of thy loveliness, and
+pleasure of thy perfume, to others when I am gone. And let him who
+enjoys remember the soul of him who planted thee."
+
+[Illustration: BROTHER BENEDICT BLESSES THE FLOWERS.]
+
+And he covered his face with his hands, and went back to the
+monastery. And he did not enter the new plant upon his roll, for he
+had no such lily in his garden.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Brother Benedict's soul had long departed, when in times of turbulence
+and change, the monastery was destroyed, and between fire and plunder
+and reckless destruction everything perished, and even the garden was
+laid waste. But no one touched the Lilies of the Valley in the copse
+below, for they were so common that they were looked upon as weeds.
+And though nothing remained of the brotherhood but old tales, these
+lingered, and were handed on; and when the children played with the
+lilies and bickered over them, crying, "My ladder has twelve white
+angels and yours has only eight," they would often call them Brother
+Benedict's flowers, adding, "but the real right name of them is
+Ladders to Heaven."
+
+And after a time a new race came into the Green Valley and filled it;
+and the stream which never failed turned many wheels, and trades were
+brisk, and they were what are called black trades. And men made money
+soon, and spent it soon, and died soon; and in the time between each
+lived for himself, and had little reverence for those who were gone,
+and less concern for those who should come after. And at first they
+were too busy to care for what is only beautiful, but after a time
+they built smart houses, and made gardens, and went down into the
+copse and tore up clumps of Brother Benedict's flowers, and planted
+them in exposed rockeries, and in pots in dry hot parlors, where they
+died, and then the good folk went back for more; and no one reckoned
+if he was taking more than his fair share, or studied the culture of
+what he took away, or took the pains to cover the roots of those he
+left behind, and in three years there was not left a Ladder to Heaven
+in all the Green Valley.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The Green Valley had long been called the Black Valley, when those who
+labored and grew rich in it awoke--as man must sooner or later
+awake--to the needs of the spirit above the flesh. They were a race
+famed for music, and they became more so. The love of beauty also
+grew, and was cultivated, and in time there were finer flowers
+blossoming in that smoky air than under many brighter skies. And with
+the earnings of their grimy trades they built a fine church, and
+adorned it more richly than the old church of the monastery, that had
+been destroyed.
+
+The parson who served this church and this people was as well-beloved
+by them as Brother Benedict had been in his day, and it was in
+striving to link their minds with sympathies of the past as well as
+hopes of the future, that one day he told them the legend of the
+Ladders to Heaven. A few days afterwards he was wandering near the
+stream, when he saw two or three lads with grimy faces busily at work
+in the wood through which the stream ran. At first, when he came
+suddenly on them, they looked shyly at one another, and at last one
+stood up and spoke.
+
+"It's a few lily roots, sir, we got in the market, and we're planting
+them; and two or three of us have set ourselves to watch that they are
+not shifted till they've settled. Maybe we shall none of us see them
+fair wild here again, any more than Brother Benedict did. For black
+trades are short-lived trades, and there's none of us will be as old
+as he. But maybe we can take a pride too in thinking that they'll blow
+for other folk and other folk's children when we are gone."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Once more the fastidious[8] flowers spread, and became common in the
+valley, and were guarded with jealous care; and the memory of Brother
+Benedict lingered by the stream, and was doubly blessed.
+
+[Footnote 8: It is well known that Lilies of the Valley are flowers
+which resent disturbance, though they are perfectly hardy and vigorous
+if left in peace.]
+
+For if he is blessed whose love and wisdom add to the world's worth,
+and make life richer in pleasant things, thrice blessed is he whose
+unselfish example shall be culture to the ignorant or the thoughtless,
+and set Ladders to Heaven for the feet of those who follow him!
+
+
+
+
+SUNFLOWERS AND A RUSHLIGHT.
+
+CHAPTER I.
+
+     "A MAN NAMED SOLOMON." JAEL AND THE CHINA POODLE. JOHNSON'S
+     DICTIONARY. NAIL-SPOTS. FAMILY BEREAVEMENTS. A FAMILY DOCTOR. THE
+     BOOKS IN THE ATTIC. A PUZZLING TALE. "A JOURNEY TO GO."
+
+
+Doctor Brown is our doctor. He lives in our village, at the top of the
+hill.
+
+When we were quite little, and had scarlet-fever, and measles, and
+those things, Dr. Brown used to be very kind to us, and dress his
+first finger up in his pocket-handkerchief with a knot for the turban,
+and rings on his thumb and middle finger, and do--"At the top of a
+hill lived a man named Solomon," in a hollow voice, which frightened
+me rather.
+
+And then he used to say--"Wise man, Solomon! He lived at the top of a
+hill," and laugh till his face got redder than usual, and his eyes
+filled with laughter-tears, and twinkled in the nice way they do, and
+I was not frightened any more.
+
+Dr. Brown left off being our doctor once. That was when he and
+Grandmamma quarrelled. But they made it up again.
+
+It was when I was so unhappy--I tried to help it, but I really could
+not--about my poor dear white china-poodle (Jael broke him when she
+was dusting, and then she swept up his tail, though I have so begged
+her to keep the bits when she cleans our room, and breaks things; and
+now he never never can be mended, all the days of my life):--it was
+when I was crying about him, and Grandmamma told Dr. Brown how silly I
+was, to make me feel ashamed, that he said--"There are some tempers,
+which, if they haven't enough people to love, will love things."
+
+Margery says he did not say _tempers_ but _temperaments_. I know it
+began with temper, because it reminded me of Jael, who said "them
+tears is all temper, Miss Grace," which was very hard, because she
+knew--she knew quite well--it was about my poodle; and though
+accidents will happen, she need not have swept up his tail.
+
+Margery is sure to be right. She always is. Besides, we looked it out
+in Johnson's Dictionary, which we are rather fond of, though it is
+very heavy to lift. We like the bits out of books, in small print; but
+I could not understand the bits to the word _temperament_, and I do
+not think Margery could either, though she can understand much more
+than I can.
+
+There is a very odd bit to the word _temperamental_, and it is signed
+_Brown_; but we do not know if that means our Dr. Brown. This is the bit:
+"That _temperamental_ dignotions, and conjecture of prevalent humours,
+may be collected from spots in our nails, we concede."--_Brown._
+
+We could not understand it, so we lifted down the other volume (one is
+just as heavy as the other), and looked out "Dignotion," and it means
+"distinction, distinguishing mark," and then there is the same bit
+over again, but at the end, is "_Brown's Vulgar Errors_." And we did
+not like to ask Dr. Brown if they were his vulgar errors, for fear he
+should think us rude. I thought we might perhaps ask him if they were
+his errors, and leave out _vulgar_, which is rather a rude word, but
+Margery thought it better not, and she is sure to be right. She always
+is.
+
+But we should have liked to ask Dr. Brown about it, if it had not been
+rude, because we think a good deal of spots on our nails. All we know
+about them is that you begin at your thumb, and count on to your
+little finger, in this way,
+
+    "A Gift, a Beau,
+    A Friend, a Foe,
+    A Journey to go."
+
+I like having a Beau, or a Friend; Margery likes a Gift or a Journey
+to go. We neither of us like having Foes.
+
+And it shows that it does come true, because Margery had a white spot
+in the middle of her left little finger nail, just when our father's
+old friend wrote to Grandmamma, for one of us to go and pay him a
+visit; and Margery went, because she was the elder of the two.
+
+I do not know how I bore parting with her, except with hoping that she
+would enjoy herself, for she always had wanted so very much to have a
+journey to go. But if she had been at home, so that I could have taken
+her advice, I do not think I should have been so silly about the
+Sunflowers and the Rushlight.
+
+She says--"You'd have put on your slippers, and had a blanket round
+you at least. But, oh, my dear Grace, you always are so rash!"
+
+I did not know I was. I thought rash people were brave; and if I had
+been brave, the Rushlight would never have come out of the roof. Still
+Margery is sure to be right. I know I am very foolish and lonely
+without her.
+
+There are only two of us. Our father, and our mother, and our brother,
+all died of fever, nearly five years ago. We shall never see them
+again till we go to Paradise, and that is one reason why we wish to
+try to be good and never to be naughty, so that we may be sure to see
+them again.
+
+I remember them a little. I remember being frightened by sitting so
+high up on my father's shoulder, and then feeling so safe when I got
+into my mother's lap; and I remember Robin's curls, and his taking my
+woolly ball from me. I remember our black frocks coming in the
+hair-trunk with brass nails to the sea-side, where Margery and I were
+with our nurse, and her telling the landlady that our father and
+mother and brother were all laid in one grave. And I remember going
+home, and seeing the stone flags up in the yard, and a deep dark hole
+near the pump, and thinking that was the grave; and how Margery found
+me stark with fright, and knew better, and told me that the grave was
+in the church-yard, and that this hole was only where workmen had been
+digging for drains.
+
+And then never seeing those three, day after day, and having to do
+without them ever since!
+
+But Margery remembers a good deal more (she is three years older than
+I am). She remembers things people said, and the funeral sermon, and
+the books being moved into the attic, and she remembers Grandmamma's
+quarrel with Dr. Brown.
+
+She says she was sitting behind the parlor curtains with Mrs.
+Trimmer's Roman History, and Grandmamma was sitting, looking very
+grave in her new black dress, with a pocket handkerchief and book in
+her lap, and sherry and sponge biscuits on a tray on the piano, for
+visitors of condolence, when Dr. Brown came in, looking very grave
+too, and took off one of his black gloves and shook hands. Then he
+took off the other, and put them both into his hat, and had a glass
+of sherry and a sponge biscuit, so Margery knew that he was a visitor
+of condolence.
+
+Then he and Grandmamma talked a long time. Margery does not know what
+about, for she was reading Mrs. Trimmer; but she thinks they were
+getting rather cross with each other. Then they got up, and Dr. Brown
+looked into his hat, and took out his gloves, and Grandmamma wiped her
+eyes with her pocket handkerchief, and said "I hope I know how to
+submit, but it has been a heavy judgment, Dr. Brown."
+
+And Margery was just beginning to cry too, when Dr. Brown said, "A
+very heavy judgment indeed, madam, for letting the cesspool leak into
+the well;" and it puzzled her so much that she stopped.
+
+Then Grandmamma was very angry, and Dr. Brown was angry too, and then
+Grandmamma said, "I don't know another respectable practitioner, Dr.
+Brown, who would have said what you have said this morning."
+
+And Dr. Brown brushed his hat the wrong way with his coat sleeve, and
+said, "Too true, madam! We are not a body of reformers, with all our
+opportunities; we're as bigoted as most priesthoods, but we count
+fewer missionary martyrs. The sins, the negligences, and the
+ignorances of every age have gone on much the same as far as we have
+been concerned, though very few people keep family chaplains, and
+most folk have a family doctor."
+
+Then Grandmamma got very stiff, Margery says (she always is rather
+stiff), and said, "I am sorry, Dr. Brown, to hear you speak so ill of
+the members of an honorable profession, to which you yourself belong."
+
+And Dr. Brown found out that he had brushed his hat the wrong way, and
+he brushed it right, and said, "Not at all, madam, not at all! I think
+we're a very decent set, for men with large public responsibilities,
+almost entirely shielded from the wholesome light of public criticism,
+who handle more lives than most Commanders, and are not called upon to
+publish our disasters or make returns of our losses. But don't expect
+too much of us! I say we are not reformers. They rise up amongst us
+now and again; but we don't encourage them, we don't encourage them.
+We are a privileged caste of medicine-men, whose 'mysteries' are
+protected by the faith of those to whom we minister, a faith fortified
+by ignorance and fear. I wish you Good morning, madam."
+
+Margery has often repeated this to me. We call it "Dr. Brown's
+Speeches." She is very fond of spouting speeches, much longer ones
+than Dr. Brown's. She learns them by heart out of history books, and
+then dresses up and spouts them to me in our attic.
+
+Margery says she did not understand at the time what they were
+quarrelling about; and when, afterwards, she asked Grandmamma what a
+cesspool was, Grandmamma was cross with her too, and said it was a
+very coarse and vulgar word, and that Dr. Brown was a very coarse and
+vulgar person. We've looked it out since in Johnson's Dictionary, for
+we thought it might be one of Dr. Brown's vulgar errors, but it is not
+there.
+
+Margery reads a great deal of history; she likes it; she likes all the
+sensible books in the attic, and I like the rest, particularly poetry
+and fairy tales.
+
+The books are mother's books, they belonged to her father. She liked
+having them all in the parlor, "littering the whole place," Jael says;
+but Grandmamma has moved them to the attic now, all but a volume of
+Sermons for Sunday, and the Oriental Annual, to amuse visitors if they
+are left alone. Only she says you never ought to leave your visitors
+alone.
+
+Jael is very glad the books were taken to the attic, because "they
+gather dust worse than chimney ornaments;" so she says.
+
+Margery and I are very glad too, for we are sent to play in the attic,
+and then we read as much as ever we like; and we move our pet books to
+our own corner and pretend they are our very own. We have very cosy
+corners; we pile up some of the big books for seats, and then make a
+bigger pile in front of us for tables, and there we sit.
+
+Once Dr. Brown found us. We had got whooping cough, and he had come
+to see if we were better; and he is very big, and he tramped so
+heavily on the stairs I did really think he was a burglar; and Margery
+was a little frightened too, so we were very glad to see him; and when
+he saw us reading at our tables, he said, "So this is the Attic salt
+ye season life with, is it?" And then he laughed just as he always
+does.
+
+There is one story in my favorite Fairy Book which Margery likes too;
+it is called "A Puzzling Tale." I read it to Margery when we were
+sitting in our tree seat in the garden, and I put my hand over the
+answer to the puzzle, and she could not guess; and if Margery could
+not guess, I do not think any one else could.
+
+This is the tale:--"Three women were once changed into flowers, and
+grew in a field: but one was permitted to go home at night. Once, when
+day was dawning, and she was about to return to her companions in the
+field and become a flower again, she said to her husband, 'In the
+morning come to the field and pick me off my stalk, then I shall be
+released, and able to live at home for the future.' So the husband
+went to the field as he was told, and picked his wife and took her
+home."
+
+"Now how did he know his wife's flower from the other two, for all the
+three flowers were alike?"
+
+(That is the Puzzle. This is the answer):
+
+"_He knew his wife because there was no dew upon her flower._"
+
+There is a very nice picture of the three flowers standing stiff and
+upright, with leaves held out like hands, and large round flower
+faces, all three exactly alike. I have looked at them again and again,
+but I never could see any difference; for you can't see the dew on the
+ones who had been out all night, and so you can't tell which was the
+one who was allowed to go home. But I think it was partly being so
+fond of those round flower faces in the Puzzling Tale, that made me
+get so very very fond of Sunflowers.
+
+We have splendid Sunflowers in our garden, so tall, and with such
+large round faces!
+
+The Sunflowers were in bloom when Margery went away. She bade them
+good bye, and kissed her hands to them as well as to me. She went away
+in a cab, with her things in the hair trunk with brass nails on the
+top. She waved her hand to me as long as ever I could see her, and she
+wagged one finger particularly. I knew which finger it was, and what
+she meant. It was the little finger with that dignotion on the nail,
+which showed that she had a journey to go.
+
+
+CHAPTER II.
+
+     "ON THE WING. SUNFLOWER SAINTS. DEW-DRENCHED. A BAD NIGHT. A BAD
+     HEADACHE. REGULAR REGIMEN IN GRANDMAMMA'S YOUNG DAYS. TIRED
+     NATURE'S SWEET RESTORER. A SINFUL WASTE OF CANDLE GREASE."
+
+
+The Sunflowers were in bloom when Margery went away; and the swallows
+were on the wing. The garden was full of them all the morning, and
+when she had gone, they went too. They had been restless for days
+past, so I dare say they had dignotions of their own, that they had a
+journey to go as well as Margery.
+
+But when they were gone, and she was gone, the garden felt very
+lonely. The Sunflowers stretched out their round faces just as if they
+were looking to see if the cab was coming back; and there was a robin,
+which kept hopping on and off the pump and peeping about with his
+eyes, as if he could not imagine what had become of all the swallows.
+
+And Margery's black cat came and mewed to me, and rubbed itself
+against my pinafore, and walked up and down with me till I went in and
+got the "Ancient Mariner" and my little chair, and came back and read
+to the Sunflowers.
+
+Sunflowers are quite as good as dolls to play with. Margery and I
+think them better in some ways. You can't move them about unless you
+pick them; but then they will stand of themselves, which dolls will
+not. You can give them names just as well, and you can teach them
+lessons just as well. They will grow, which dolls won't; and they
+really live and die, which dolls don't. In fact, for tallness, they
+are rather like grown up people. Then more come out, which is nice;
+and you see the little Sunflowers growing into big ones, which you
+can't see with dolls.
+
+We can play a Sunday game with the Sunflowers. We do not have any of
+our toys on Sunday, except in winter, when we have Noah's Ark. In the
+summer we may go in the garden between the services, and we always
+walk up and down together and play with the Sunflowers.
+
+The Sunday Sunflower game is calling them after the black-letter
+saints in the Kalendar, and reading about them in a very old book--a
+big one with a black leather binding--in the attic, called "Lives of
+the Saints." I read, and then I tell it to Margery as we walk up and
+down, and say--"This is S. Prisca, this is S. Fabian, this is S.
+Agnes, this is S. Agatha, and this is S. Valentine"--and so on.
+
+What made us first think of having them for Saints on Sunday, was that
+the yellow does sometimes look so very like a glory round their faces.
+We choose by turns which name to give to each, but if there is a very
+big one with a lot of yellow flaming out, we always called him S.
+George of England, because there is a very old figure of S. George
+slaying the Dragon, in a painted window in our Church; and S. George's
+hair is yellow, and standing out all round; and when the sun shines
+through the window, so that you can't see his nose and his mouth at
+all clearly, he looks quite wonderfully like a Sunflower. Then on week
+days, the game I like best, is pretending that they are women changed
+into flowers.
+
+They feel so grown up with being so tall, that they are much more like
+grown up people turned into flowers than like children. I pretend my
+doll is my child when I play with her; but I don't think I could
+pretend a Sunflower was my child; and sometimes if Margery leaves me
+alone with rather big Sunflowers, when it is getting dusk, and I look
+up at them, and they stare at me with their big faces in the twilight,
+I get so frightened for fear they should have got leave to go home at
+night, _and be just turning_, that I run indoors as hard as ever I
+can.
+
+Two or three times I have got up early and gone out to see if any one
+of them had no dew; but they have always been drenched, every one of
+them. Dew, thick over their brown faces, and rolling like tears down
+their yellow glories. I am quite sure that I have never seen a
+Sunflower yet, that had had leave to go home at night, and Margery
+says the same. And she is certain to know.
+
+I had a very bad night, the night after Margery went away. I was so
+terribly frightened with being alone in the dark. I know it was very
+silly, but it was most miserable. I was afraid to go and wake Jael,
+and I was more afraid of going to Grandmamma, and I was most of all
+afraid of staying where I was. It seemed to be years and years before
+the light began to come a little; and the noises left off creaking,
+and dropping, and cracking, and moving about.
+
+Next day I had a very bad headache. Jael does not like me when I have
+headaches, because I give trouble, and have to have hot water and
+mustard for my feet at odd times. Jael does not mind bringing up hot
+water at night; but she says she can't abide folk wanting things at
+odd times. So she does not like me when I have headaches; and when I
+have headaches, I do not much like her. She treads so very heavily, it
+shakes the floor just as ogres in ogre-stories shake the ground when
+they go out kidnapping; and then the pain jumps in my head till I get
+frightened, and wonder what happens to people when the pain gets so
+bad that they cannot bear it any longer.
+
+That morning, I thought I never should have got dressed; stooping and
+fastening things do make you so very bad. I was very late, and
+Grandmamma was beginning to scold me, but when she saw I had got a
+headache she didn't--she only said I looked like a washed-out pocket
+handkerchief; and when I could not eat any breakfast, she said I must
+have a dose of rhubarb and magnesia, and as she had not got any
+rhubarb left, she sent Jael up to Dr. Brown's to get some.
+
+I did not like having to take rhubarb and magnesia; but I was very
+glad to get rid of Jael for a bit, though I knew she would hate me for
+having had to take a message at an odd time. It was her shaking the
+room when she brought in the urn, and knocking the tongs into the
+fender with her dress as she went by, that had made me not able to eat
+any breakfast.
+
+Just as she was starting, Grandmamma beckoned to her to come back, and
+told her to call at the barber's, and tell him to come up in the
+afternoon to "thin" my hair.
+
+My hair is very thick. I brush as much out as I can; but I think it
+only gets thicker and thicker. Grandmamma says she believes that is
+what gives me so many headaches, and she says it is no use cutting it
+shorter, for it always is kept cut short; the only way is to thin it,
+that is, cutting lumps out here and there down to the roots. Thinning
+does make less of it; but when it grows again it is very difficult to
+keep tidy, which makes Jael say she "never see such a head, it's all
+odds and ends," and sometimes she adds--"inside _and_ out." Margery
+can imitate Jael exactly.
+
+When Jael came back, she said Dr. Brown would step down and see me
+himself. So he came.
+
+Then he felt my pulse and asked me what sort of a night I had had, and
+I was obliged to tell him, and Grandmamma was very much vexed, and
+made me tell the whole truth, and she said I did not deserve any pity
+for my headaches when I brought them on myself, which is true.
+
+I think it was being vexed with me that made her vexed with Dr. Brown,
+when he said rhubarb and magnesia would not do me any good. She said
+she liked a regular system with the health of young people; and when
+she and her six sisters were girls they were physicked with perfect
+regularity; they were bled in the spring, and the fall of the leaf;
+and had their hair thinned and their teeth taken out, once a quarter,
+by the advice of their excellent friend and local practitioner, who
+afterwards removed to London, and became very distinguished, and had
+his portrait painted in oils for one of the learned societies. And
+Grandmamma said she had been spared to survive all her family, and had
+never had a headache in her life.
+
+Though my head was so bad, I listened as hard as I could to hear what
+Dr. Brown would say. For I thought--"if he makes one of his speeches,
+they will quarrel, and he will leave off being our doctor again."
+
+But he didn't, he only said--"Well, well, madam, I'll send the child
+some medicine. Let her go and lie down at once, with a hot bottle to
+her feet, and as many pillows as she wants under her head; and don't
+let a sound reach her for the next three or four hours. When she
+wakes, give her a basin of bread and milk."
+
+So he went away, and presently he came back himself with the medicine.
+It tasted very nice, and he was very kind; only he made Jael so cross
+with saying she had not put boiling water in the hot bottle, and
+sending it down again; and then making her fetch more pillows out of
+the spare bedroom (Jael does not like odd things any more than odd
+times). But I never had such a hot bottle or such a comfortable
+headache before, and he pulled the blind down, and I went to sleep. At
+first I dreamt a little of the pain, and then I forgot it, and then
+slept like a top, for hours and hours.
+
+When I woke I found a basin of bread and milk, with a plate over it to
+keep it warm, on the rush-bottomed chair by the bed. It hadn't kept it
+very warm. It made me think of the suppers of the Three Bears in their
+three basins, and I daresay theirs were rather cold too. Perhaps their
+Jael boiled their bread and milk at her own time, whether they were
+ready for it or not.
+
+But I think mine must have been like the Little Bear's supper, for I
+ate it all up.
+
+My head was much better, so I went up to our attic, and got out the
+Fairy Book, that I might not think too much about Margery, and it
+opened of itself at the Puzzling Tale. I was just beginning to read
+it, when I heard a noise under the rafters, in one of those low sort
+of cupboard places that run all round the attic, where spare boxes and
+old things are kept, and where Margery and I sometimes play at Voyages
+of Discovery.
+
+I thought Margery's black cat must be shut up there, but when I went
+to look, there was another crash, and then the door burst open, and
+out came Jael, with her cap so crushed that I could not help laughing.
+
+I was glad to see her, for my head was well, so I liked her again, and
+did not mind her being ogre-footed, and I wanted to know what she was
+doing; but Jael had not got to like me again, and she spoke very
+crossly, and said it was more trouble of my giving, and that Dr. Brown
+had said that I was to have a light in my bedroom till Miss Margery
+came back--"if ever there was a sinful waste of candle-grease!" and
+that it wasn't likely the Mistress was going to throw away money on
+box night-lights; and she had sent the boy to the shop for
+half-a-dozen farthing rushlights--if they kept them, and if not, for
+half-a-pound of "sixteen" dips, and had sent her to the attic to find
+the old Rushlight-tin.
+
+"What's it like, Jael?"
+
+"It's like a Rushlight-tin, to be sure," said Jael. "And it's not been
+used since your Pa and Ma's last illness. So it's safe to be thick
+with dust, and a pretty job it is for me to have to do, losing the pin
+out of my cap, and tearing my apron on one of them old boxes, all to
+find a dirty old Rushlight, just because of _your_ whims and fancies,
+Miss Grace!"
+
+"Jael, I am so sorry for your cap and apron. I will go in and find the
+Rushlight for you. Tell me, is it painted black, with a lot of round
+holes in the sides, and a little door, and a place like a candlestick
+in the middle? If it is, I know where it is."
+
+I knew quite well. It was behind a very old portmanteau, and a tin box
+with a wig and moths in it, and the bottom part of the shower-bath,
+just at the corner, which Margery and I call Bass's Straits. So I made
+a Voyage of Discovery, and brought it out, "thick with dust," as Jael
+had said.
+
+And Jael took it, and went away very cross and very ogre-footed, with her
+cap still awry; and as she stumped down the attic-stairs, and kept
+clattering the Rushlight against the rails, I could hear her muttering--"A
+sinful waste of candle-grease--whims and fancies--scandilus!"
+
+
+CHAPTER III.
+
+     PAIN PAST. A REPRIEVE FROM THE BARBER. SUNFLOWER SLEEP. LITTLE
+     MICHAELMAS GOOSE. SNUFFING A RUSHLIGHT. A PURSUIT OF KNOWLEDGE
+     UNDER DIFFICULTIES. GRANDMAMMA WITH A WATCHMAN'S RATTLE.
+
+
+Jael's ogre-footsteps had hardly ceased to resound from the wooden
+stairs, when these shook again to the tread of Dr. Brown.
+
+He said--"How are you??" and I said--"Very happy, thank you," which
+was true. For the only nice thing about dreadful pain is that, when it
+is gone, you feel for a little bit as if you could cry with joy at
+having nothing to bear.
+
+Then I thanked him for asking Grandmamma to let me have the Rushlight
+till Margery came home; and he said I ought to be very much obliged to
+him, for he had begged me off the barber too. So I asked him if he
+thought my hair gave me headaches, and he felt it, and said--"No!"
+which I was very glad of. He said he thought it was more what I grew
+inside, than what I grew outside my head that did it, and that I was
+not to puzzle too much over books.
+
+I was afraid he meant the Puzzling Tale, so I told him it was very
+short, and the answer was given; so he said he should like to hear
+it--and I read it to him. He liked it very much, and he liked the
+picture; and I told him we thought they were Sunflowers, only that the
+glory-leaves were folded in so oddly, and we did not know why. And he
+said--"Why, because they're asleep, to be sure. Don't you know that
+flowers sleep as soundly as you do? _They_ don't lie awake in the
+dark!"
+
+And then he shook with laughing, till he shook the red into his face,
+and the tears into his eyes, as he always does.
+
+Dr. Brown must know a great deal about flowers, much more than I
+thought he did; I told him so, and he said, "Didn't think I looked as
+like a flower sprite as yourself, eh? 'Pon my word, I don't think I'm
+unlike one of your favorites. Tall, ye know, big beaming face, eh?
+There are people more unlike a Sunflower than Dr. Brown! Ha! ha! ha!"
+
+He laughed, he always does; but he told me quite delightful things
+about flowers: how they sleep, and breathe, and eat, and drink, and
+catch cold in draughts, and turn faint in the sun, and sometimes are
+all the better for a change ("like Miss Margery," so he said), and
+sometimes are home-sick and won't settle ("which I've a notion might
+be one of your follies, Miss Grace"), and turn pale and sickly in dark
+corners or stuffy rooms. But he never knew one that went home at
+night.
+
+Except for being too big for our chairs and tables, and for going
+voyages of discovery, I do think Dr. Brown would make a very nice
+person to play with; he seems to believe in fancy things, and he knows
+so much, and is so good-natured. He asked me what flower I thought
+Jael was like; and when I told him Margery could imitate her exactly,
+he said he must see that some day. I dared not tell him Margery can do
+him too, making his speeches in the shovel hat we found in an old hat
+box near Bass's Straits, and a pair of old black gloves of
+Grandmamma's.
+
+When he went away he patted my head, and said Margery and I must come
+to tea with him some day, and he would show us wonderful things in his
+microscope, and if we were very good, a plant that eats meat.
+
+"But most flowers thrive by 'eating the air,' as the Irish say, and
+you're one of 'em, Miss Grace. Do ye hear? You're not to bury yourself
+in this attic in the holidays. Run out in the garden, and play with
+your friends the Sunflowers, and remember what I've told you about
+their going to sleep and setting you a good example. It's as true as
+Gospel, and there's many a rough old gardener besides Dr. Brown will
+tell you that flowers gathered in the morning last longer than those
+gathered in the evening, because those are fresh after a night's nap,
+and these are tired and want to rest, and not to be taken into
+parlors, and kept awake with candles. Good bye, little Michaelmas
+Goose!" And away he went, clomping downstairs, but not a bit like
+Jael.
+
+When bedtime came I was a good deal tired; but after I got into bed I
+kept my candle alight for a time, hoping Jael would bring the
+Rushlight and put it on the floor near Margery's bed, as I had asked
+her to do. But after a while I had to put out my candle, for
+Grandmamma is rather particular about it, and then I was so sleepy I
+fell asleep. I was awakened by a noise and a sort of a flashing, and I
+thought it was thunder and lightning, but it was only Jael; she had
+come stumping in, and was flashing the Rushlight about before my eyes
+to see if I was asleep, and when she saw I was, she wanted to take it
+away again, but I begged and prayed, and then I said Grandmamma had
+promised, and she always keeps her promises, and I should go and ask
+her. So at last Jael set it down by Margery's bed, and went away more
+ogre-footed than ever; grumbling and growling about the waste of
+candle-grease. But I had got the Rushlight, so I didn't mind; I only
+hugged my knees, and laughed, and lay down again. And when I heard
+Jael go stumping upstairs, I knew that she had waited till her own
+bedtime to bring the Rushlight, and that was why it was late. And I
+thought to-morrow I would tell Grandmamma, for she promised, and she
+always performs. She does not spoil us, we know, but she is always
+fair. Jael isn't, always.
+
+A Rushlight is a very queer thing. It looked so grim as it stood by
+Margery's bed, in a little round of light; rather like a ruined castle
+in the middle of a lake in the moonshine. A castle with one big door,
+and a lot of round windows with the light coming through. They made
+big spots and patches of light all about the room. I could not shut my
+eyes for watching them, for they were not all the same shape, and they
+kept changing and moving; at last they got so faint, I was afraid the
+Rushlight was going out, so I jumped up and went to see, and I found
+there was a very big thief in the candle, so I got the snuffers out of
+my candlestick, and snuffed it, and got into bed again; and now there
+were beautiful big moons of light all over Margery's bed-valance.
+
+Thinking of the thief in the Rushlight made me think of a thief in a
+castle, and then of thieves getting into our house, and that if one
+got in at my window I could do nothing except scream for help, because
+Grandmamma keeps the Watchman's Rattle under her own pillow, and locks
+her bedroom door. And then I looked at my window, and saw a bit of
+light, and it made me quite cold, for I thought it was a burglar's
+lantern, till I saw it was the moon.
+
+Then I knew how silly I was, and I determined that I would not be such
+a coward. I determined I would not think of burglars, nor ghosts, nor
+even Margery.
+
+Margery and I are quite sure that we can think of things, and prevent
+ourselves thinking of things, by trying very hard. But it is rather
+difficult.
+
+I tried, and I did. I thought I would think of flowers, and of Dr.
+Brown, for he is very cheerful to think of. So I thought of
+Sunflowers, and how they eat the air, and go to sleep at night, and
+perhaps look like the three women in the Fairy Tale. And I thought I
+would always pick flowers in the morning now, and never at night, when
+they want to go to sleep and not to be woke up in a parlor with
+candles.
+
+And then I wondered: Would they wake with candles if they had begun to
+go to sleep? Would they wake with a jump, as I did, if Jael flashed
+the Rushlight in their faces? Would the moon wake them? Were they
+awake then, that very minute, like me, or asleep, as I was before Jael
+came in? Did they look like the picture in the Fairy Book, with their
+glory leaves folded over their faces? If I took a candle now, and held
+it before S. George of England, looking like that, would he wake with
+a start, and spread his glory leaves out all round, and stare at me,
+broad--wide awake?
+
+Then I thought how often I had gone out early, and wet my petticoats,
+to see if any of them had no dew on their faces, and that I had never
+gone out at night to see if they looked like the women in the Fairy
+Tale; and I wondered why I never had, and I supposed it was because I
+was silly, and perhaps afraid of going out in the dark.
+
+Then I remembered that it wasn't dark. There was a moon: besides my
+having a Rushlight.
+
+Then I wondered if I was very very silly, and why Dr. Brown had called
+me a Michaelmas Goose. But I remembered that it must be because
+to-morrow was the 29th of September.
+
+Then the stairs clock struck eleven.
+
+I counted all the strokes, and then I saw that the Rushlight was
+getting dim again, so I got up and snuffed it, and all the moons came
+out as bright as ever; but I did not feel in the least sleepy.
+
+I did not feel frightened any more. I only wished I knew for certain
+what Sunflowers look like when they are asleep, and whether you can
+wake them up with candles. And I went on wondering, and watching the
+moons.
+
+Then the stairs clock struck a quarter-past eleven, and I
+thought--"Oh, Grace! if you were not such a coward, if you had jumped
+up when the clock struck eleven, and slipped down the back stairs,
+with the Rushlight in your hands, and unlocked the side door, you
+might have run down the grass walk without hurting your feet, and
+flashed it in the faces of the Sunflowers, and had a good look, and
+got back to bed again before the clock struck a quarter-past; and
+then it would have been done, and couldn't be undone, and you would
+have known whether they look like the picture, and if they wake up
+with candles, and you never could have unknown. But now, you'll go on
+putting off, and being frightened about it, and perhaps to-morrow Jael
+will tell Grandmamma you were asleep, and she won't let you have a
+Rushlight any more, not even when you are a grown-up young lady; and
+even when you get married and go away, you may marry a man who won't
+let you have one; and so you may never know what you want to know, all
+because you're a Michaelmas Goose."
+
+Then the Rushlight began to get dim again, so I got up and snuffed it,
+and it shone out bright, and I thought "If it was Margery she would do
+it straight off. I won't be a Michaelmas Goose; I'll go while I'm up,
+and be back before the stairs clock strikes again, and then it will be
+done and can't be undone, and I shall know, and can't unknow."
+
+So I took up the Rushlight and went as fast as I could.
+
+I met a black beetle on the back stairs, which was horrid, but I went
+on. The side door key is very rusty and very stiff; I had to put down
+the Rushlight and use both my hands, and just then the clock struck
+the half-hour, which was rather a good thing, for it drowned the noise
+of the lock. It did not take me two minutes to run down the grass
+path, and there were the Sunflowers.
+
+I did it and it can't be undone, but I don't know what I wanted to
+know after all, for the moon was shining in their faces, so they may
+not have been really sound asleep. They are so tall, the Rushlight was
+too heavy for me to lift right up, so I opened the door and took out
+the candle, and flashed it in their faces. But they did not take as
+much notice as I expected. Their glory leaves looked rather narrow and
+tight, but they were not quite like the flower-women in the picture.
+
+Sunflowers are alive, I know; they look so different when they are
+dead. And I am sure they go to sleep, and wake up with candles, or Dr.
+Brown would not have said so. But it is rather a quiet kind of being
+alive and awake, I think. Something like Grandmamma, when she is very
+stiff on Sunday afternoon, and goes to sleep upright in a chair, and
+wakes up a little when her book drops. But not alive and awake like
+Margery's black cat, which must have heard me open the side door, and
+followed me without my seeing it. It did frighten me, with jumping out
+of the bushes, and looking at me with yellow eyes!
+
+Then I saw another eye. The eye of a moth, who was on one of the
+leaves. A most beautiful fellow! His colored wings were rather tight,
+like the Sunflower's glory leaves, but he was wide awake--watching
+the candle.
+
+I should have got back to bed quicker if it had not been for Margery's
+black cat and the night-moths. I wanted to get the cat into the house
+again, but she would not follow me, and the moths would; and I had
+such hard work to keep them out of the Rushlight.
+
+There was nothing to drown the noise the key made when I locked the
+side-door again, and when I got to the bottom of the back stairs, I
+saw a light at the top, and there was Grandmamma in the most awful
+night cap you can imagine, with a candle in one hand, and the
+watchman's rattle in the other.
+
+
+CHAPTER IV.
+
+     HEADS OFF! JAEL AND MASTER JOHN. FAREWELL. FRIEND IN NEED. A FREE
+     PARDON.
+
+
+The worst of it was, I caught such a very bad cold, I gave more
+trouble than ever; besides Grandmamma having rheumatism in her back
+with the draught up the back stairs, and nothing on but her night
+things and the watchman's rattle. I knew I deserved to be punished,
+but I did not think my punishment would have been such a terrible
+one.
+
+I hoped it might have been lessons, or even, perhaps, not having the
+Rushlight again, but I did not think Grandmamma would think of hurting
+the Sunflowers.
+
+She waited till I was well enough to go out, and I really began to
+think she was going to be kind enough to forgive me, with a free
+forgiveness. But that day she called me to her, and spoke very
+seriously, and said, that to punish me for my misconduct, and to try
+and cure me of the babyish nonsense I gave way to about things, she
+had decided to have all the Sunflowers destroyed at once, and not to
+have any seed sown for new ones, any more. The gardener was to do it
+next morning, and I was to be there to see. She hoped it would make me
+remember the occasion, and teach me better sense for the future.
+
+I should have begged and prayed, but it is no use begging and praying
+to Grandmamma; Jael attends more to that. There was no comfort
+anywhere, except in thinking that Margery would be at home in two
+days, and that I could pour out all my sorrow to her.
+
+As I went crying down the passage I met Jael.
+
+"What's the matter now?" said she.
+
+"Grandmamma's going to have all the Sunflowers killed," I sobbed. "Oh,
+I wish I'd never gone to look at them with the Rushlight!"
+
+"That's how it is," said Jael sagely, "folks always wishes they'd
+done different when it's too late. But don't sob your heart out that
+fashion, Miss Grace. Come into the pantry and I'll give you a bit of
+cake."
+
+"Thank you, dear Jael, you're very kind, but I don't think I _could_
+eat cake. Oh Jael, dear Jael! Do you think she would spare one, just
+one?"
+
+"That she wouldn't, Miss Grace, so you needn't trouble your head about
+it. When your Grandmamma's made up her mind, there's no one ever I saw
+can move her, unless it be Dr. Brown. Besides, the missus has never
+much mattered those Sunflowers. They were your mamma's fancy, and
+she'd as many whims as you have, and put your Grandmamma about a good
+deal. She was always at your papa to be doing this and that to the
+place 'Wasting good money' as your Grandmamma said. Your papa was a
+very easy gentleman. He wanted to please his wife, and he wanted to
+please his mother. Deary me! I remember his coming to me in this very
+pantry--I don't know if it would be more than three months afore they
+were both taken--and, standing there, as it might be you, Miss Grace,
+and saying--'Jael,' he says, 'this window looks out on the yard,' he
+says; 'do you ever smell anything, Jael? You are here a good deal.'
+'Master John,' I says, 'I thank my Maker, my nose never troubles me;
+but if it did' I says, 'I hope I know better than to set _my_self up
+to smell more than my neighbors.'--'To be sure, to be sure,' he says,
+looking round in a foolish kind of a way at the sink. Then he says,
+'Jael, do you ever taste anything in the water? My wife thinks there's
+something wrong with the well.' 'Master John,' I says, 'with all
+respect to your good lady, she disturbs her mind a deal too much with
+books. An ounce of ex-perience, I say, is worth a pound of book
+learning; and I'll tell you what my father said to them parties that
+goes round stirring up stinks, when they were for meddling with his
+farm yard. "Let wells alone," he says, "and muck heaps likewise." And
+my father passed three-score years and ten, Master John, and died
+where he was born.' Well-a-day! I see your poor Pa now. He stood and
+looked as puzzled as a bee in a bottle. Then he says--'Well, Jael, my
+wife says Sunflowers are good against fevers; and there's no harm in
+sowing some.' Which he did that very afternoon, she standing by him,
+with her hand on his shoulder; but, bless ye, my dear! they were took
+long before the seeds was up. Your mother was a pretty woman, I'll say
+that for her. You'd never have thought it, to look at her, that she
+was so fond of poking in dirty places."
+
+"Jael!" I said, "Mamma was right about the smells in the back yard.
+Margery and I hold our noses"--"you'd a deal better hold your
+tongues," interrupted Jael.
+
+"We do, Jael, we do, because I don't like mustard plasters on my
+throat, and when the back yard smells a good deal, my throat is always
+sore. But oh, Jael! If Sunflowers are good for smells, don't you think
+we might tell Grandmamma, and she would let us have them for that?"
+
+"She'll not, Miss Grace," said Jael, "so don't worry on. They're
+ragged things at the best, and all they're good for is to fatten
+fowls; and I shall tell Gardener he may cut their heads off and throw
+'em to the poultry, before he roots up the rest."
+
+I could not bear to hear her, so I went out to bid the Sunflowers good
+bye.
+
+I held their dear rough stems, rough with nice little white hairs, and
+I knew how easily their poor heads would cut off, there is so much
+pith inside the stems.
+
+I kissed all their dear faces one after another. They are very nice to
+kiss, especially in the sun, for then they smell honey-sweet, like
+blue Scabious, and lots of flowers that have not much scent, but only
+smell as if bees would like them. I kissed them once round for myself,
+and then once for Margery, for I knew how sorry she would be.
+
+And it was whilst I was holding S. George of England's face in my two
+hands, kissing him for Margery, that I saw the Dignotion on my middle
+finger nail.
+
+A Gift, a Beau, _A Friend!_--
+
+And then it flashed into my mind, all in a moment--"There can be no
+friend to me and the Sunflowers, except Dr. Brown, for Jael says he is
+the only person who ever changes Grandmamma's mind."
+
+I dawdled that night when I could not make up my mind about going out
+with the Rushlight, but I did not wait one minute now. I climbed over
+the garden wall into the road, and ran as hard as I could run up to
+the top of the hill, where lived a man--I mean where Dr. Brown lived.
+
+Now, I know that he is the kindest person that ever could be. I told
+him everything, and he asked particularly about my throat and the
+smells. Then he looked graver than I ever saw him, and said, "Listen,
+little woman; you must look out for spots on your little finger-nails.
+You're going away for a bit, till I've doctored these smells. Don't
+turn your eyes into saucers. Margery shall go with you; I wish I could
+turn ye both into flowers and plant ye out in a field for three
+months! but you are not to give me any trouble by turning home-sick,
+do you hear? I shall have trouble enough with Grandmamma, though I am
+joint guardian with her (your dear mother's doing, that!), and have
+some voice in the disposal of your fates. Now, if I save the
+Sunflowers, will you promise me not to cry to come home again till I
+send for you?"
+
+"Shall you be able to change her mind, to let us have Sunflowers sown
+for next year, too?
+
+"Yes!"
+
+"Then I promise."
+
+I could have danced for joy. The only thing that made me feel
+uncomfortable was having to tell Dr. Brown about the spot on my middle
+finger-nail. He would ask all about it, and so I let out about
+Johnson's Dictionary and the Dignotions, and Brown's Vulgar Errors,
+and I was afraid Margery would say I had been very silly, and let a
+cat out of a bag.
+
+I hope he was not vexed about his vulgar errors. He only laughed till
+he nearly tumbled off his chair.
+
+I never did have a spot on my journey-to-go nail, but we went away all
+the same; so I suppose Dignotions do not always tell true.
+
+When Grandmamma forgave me, and told me she would spare the Sunflowers
+this time, as Dr. Brown had begged them off, she said--"And Dr. Brown
+assures me, Grace, that when you are stronger you will have more
+sense. I am sure I hope he is right."
+
+I hope so, too!
+
+
+
+
+TINY'S TRICKS AND TOBY'S TRICKS.
+
+TINY.
+
+
+"Oh Toby, my dear old Toby, you portly and princely Pug!
+
+"You know it's bad for you to lie in the fender:--Father says that's
+what makes you so fat--and I want you to come and sit with me on the
+Kurdistan rug.
+
+"Put your lovely black nose in my lap, and I'll count your great
+velvet wrinkles, and comfort you with kisses.
+
+"If you'll only keep out of the fender--Father says you'll have a fit
+if you don't!--and give good advice to your poor Little Missis.
+
+"Father says you are the wisest creature he knows, and you are but
+eight years old, and three months ago I was six.
+
+"And yet mother says I'm the silliest little girl that she ever met
+with, because I am always picking up tricks.
+
+"She does not know where I learnt to stand on one leg (unless it was
+from a goose), but it has made one of my shoulders stick out more than
+the other.
+
+[Illustration: "YOU KNOW IT IS BAD FOR YOU TO LIE IN THE FENDER"]
+
+"It wasn't the goose who taught me to whistle up and down stairs. I
+learnt that last holidays from my brother.
+
+"The baker's man taught me to put my tongue in my cheek when I'm
+writing copies, for I saw him do it when he was receipting a bill.
+
+"And I learn't to wrinkle my forehead, and squeeze up my eyes, and
+make faces with my lips by imitating the strange doctor who attended
+us when we were ill.
+
+"It was Brother Jack himself who showed me that the way to squint is
+to look at both sides of your nose.
+
+"And then, Toby--would you believe it?--he turned round last holidays
+and said--'Look here, Tiny, if the wind changes when you're making
+that face it'll stay there, and remember you can't squint properly and
+keep your eye on the weathercock at the same time to see how it
+blows.'
+
+"But boys are so mean!--and I catch stammering from his school
+friend--'_Tut-tut-tut-tut-Tom_,' as we call him--but I soon leave it
+off when he goes.
+
+"I did not learn stooping and poking out my chin from any one; it came
+of itself. It is so hard to sit up; but mother says that much my worst
+trick.
+
+"Is biting my finger nails; and I've bitten them nearly all down to
+the quick.
+
+"She says if I don't lose these tricks, and leave off learning fresh
+ones, I shall never grow up like our pretty great-great-grandmamma.
+
+"Do you know her, dear Toby? I don't think you do. I don't think you
+ever look at pictures, intelligent as you are!
+
+"It's the big portrait, by Romney, of a beautiful lady, sitting
+beautifully up, with her beautiful hands lying in her lap.
+
+"Looking over her shoulder, out of lovely eyes, with a sweet smile on
+her lips, in the old brocade Mother keeps in the chest, and a pretty
+lace cap.
+
+"I should very much like to be like her when I grow up to that age;
+Mother says she was twenty-six.
+
+"And of course I know she would not have looked so nice in her picture
+if she'd squinted, and wrinkled her forehead, and had one shoulder
+out, and her tongue in her cheek, and a round back, and her chin
+poked, and her fingers all swollen with biting;--but, oh, Toby, you
+clever Pug! how am I to get rid of my tricks?
+
+"That is, if I must give them up; but it seems so hard to get into
+disgrace.
+
+"For doing what comes natural to one, with one's own eyes and legs,
+and fingers, and face."
+
+
+TOBY.
+
+"Remove your arms from my neck, Little Missis--I feel unusually
+apoplectic--and let me take two or three turns on the rug.
+
+"Whilst I turn the matter over in my mind, for never was there so
+puzzled a pug!
+
+"I am, as your respected Father truly observes, a most talented
+creature.
+
+"And as to fit subjects for family portraits and personal
+appearance--from the top of my massive brow to the tip of my curly
+tail, I believe myself to be perfect in every feature.
+
+"And when my ears are just joined over my forehead like a black velvet
+cap, I'm reckoned the living likeness of a late eminent divine and
+once popular preacher.
+
+"Did your great-great-grandmamma ever take a prize at a show? But let
+that pass--the real question is this:
+
+"How is it that what I am most highly commended for, should in your
+case be taken amiss?
+
+"Why am I reckoned the best and cleverest of dogs? Because I've picked
+up tricks so quickly ever since I was a pup.
+
+"And if I couldn't wrinkle my forehead and poke out my chin, and
+grimace at the judges, do you suppose I should ever have been--Class
+Pug. First Prize--Champion and Gold Cup?
+
+"We have one thing in common--I do _not_ find it easy to sit up.
+
+"But I learned it, and so will you. I can't imagine worse manners than
+to put one's tongue in one's cheek; as a rule, I hang mine gracefully
+out on one side.
+
+"And I've no doubt it's a mistake to gnaw your fingers. I gnawed a
+good deal in my puppyhood, but chewing my paws is a trick that I never
+tried.
+
+"How you stand on one leg I cannot imagine; with my figure it's all I
+can do to stand upon four.
+
+"I balance biscuit on my nose. Do you? I jump through a hoop (an
+atrocious trick, my dear, after one's first youth--and a full
+meal!)--I bark three cheers for the Queen, and I shut the dining-room
+door.
+
+"I lie flat on the floor at the word of command--In short, I've as
+many tricks as you have, and every one of them counts to my credit;
+
+"Whilst yours--so you say--only bring you into disgrace, which I could
+not have thought possible if you had not said it.
+
+"Indeed--but for the length of my experience and the solidity of my
+judgment--this would tempt me to think your mamma a very foolish
+person, and to advise you to disobey her; but I do _not_, Little
+Missis, for I know
+
+"That if you belong to good and kind people, it is well to let them
+train you up in the way in which they think you should go.
+
+"Your excellent parents trained me to tricks; and very senseless some
+of them seemed, I must say:
+
+"But I've lived to be proud of what I've been taught; and glad too
+that I learned to obey.
+
+"For, depend upon it, if you never do as you're told till you know the
+reason why, or till you find that you must;
+
+"You are much less of a Prize Pug than you might have been if you'd
+taken good government on trust."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+"Take me back to your arms, Little Missis, I feel cooler, and calmer
+in my mind.
+
+"Yes, there can be no doubt about it. You must do what your mother
+tells you, for you know that she's wise and kind.
+
+"You must take as much pains to _lose your_ tricks as I took to _learn
+mine_, long ago;
+
+"And we may all live to see you yet--'Class Young Lady. First Prize.
+Gold Medal--of a Show.'"
+
+
+TINY.
+
+"Oh, Toby, my dear old Toby, you wise and wonderful Pug!
+
+"Don't struggle off yet, stay on my knee for a bit, you'll be much
+hotter in the fender, and I want to give you a great, big hug.
+
+"What are you turning round and round for? you'll make yourself giddy,
+Toby. If you're looking for your tail, it is there, all right.
+
+"You can't see it for yourself because you're so fat, and because it
+is curled so tight.
+
+"I daresay you could play with it, like Kitty, when you were a pup,
+but it must be a long time now since you've seen it.
+
+"It's rather rude of you, Mr. Pug, to lie down with your back to me,
+and a grunt, but I know you don't mean it.
+
+"I wanted to hug you, Toby, because I do thank you for giving me such
+good advice, and I know every word of it's true.
+
+"I mean to try hard to follow it, and I'll tell you what I shall do.
+
+"Nurse wants to put bitter stuff on the tips of my fingers, to cure me
+of biting them, and now I think I shall let her.
+
+"I know they're not fit to be seen, but she says they would soon
+become better.
+
+"I mean to keep my hands behind my back a good deal till they're well,
+and to hold my head up, and turn out my toes; and every time I give
+way to one of my tricks, I shall go and stand (_on both legs_) before
+the picture, and confess it to great-great-grand-mamma.
+
+"Just fancy if I've no tricks left this time next year, Toby! Won't
+that show how clever we are?
+
+"I for trying so hard to do what I'm told, and you for being so wise
+that people will say--'That sensible pug cured that silly little girl
+when not even her mother could mend her.'
+
+"----Ah! Bad Dog! Where are you slinking off to?--Oh, Toby, darling!
+do, _do_ take a little of your own good advice, and try to cure
+yourself of lying in the fender!"
+
+
+
+
+THE OWL IN THE IVY BUSH.
+
+OR, THE CHILDREN'S BIRD OF WISDOM.
+
+INTRODUCTION.
+
+    "Hoot toots, man, yon's a queer bird!"
+
+--_Bonnie Scotland._
+
+
+I am an Owl; a very fluffy one, in spite of all that that Bad Boy
+pulled out! I live in an Ivy Bush. Children are nothing to me,
+naturally, so it seems strange that I should begin, at my time of
+life, to observe their little ways and their humors, and to give them
+good advice.
+
+And yet it is so. I am the Friend of Young People. In my flight abroad
+I watch them. As I sit meditating in my Ivy Bush, it is their little
+matters which I turn over in my fluffy head. I have established a
+letter box for their communications at the Hole in the Tree. No other
+address will find me.
+
+It is well known that I am a Bird of Wisdom. I am also an Observing
+Bird; and though my young friends may think I see less than I do,
+because of my blinking, and because I detest that vulgar glare of
+bright light without which some persons do not seem able to see what
+goes on around them, I would have children to know that if I can
+blink on occasion, and am not apt to let every starer read my counsel
+in my eyes, I am wide awake all the same. I am on the look-out when
+it's so dark that other folk can't see an inch before their noses, and
+(a word to the foolish and naughty!) I can see what is doing behind my
+back. And Wiseacre, Observer, and Wide-awake--I am the Children's Owl.
+
+Before I open my mouth on their little affairs, before even I open my
+letters (if there are any waiting for me) I will explain how it came
+about that I am the Children's Owl.
+
+It is all owing to that little girl; the one with the fluffy hair and
+the wise eyes. As an Observer I have noticed that not only I, but
+other people, seem to do what she wants, and as a Wiseacre I have
+reflected upon it as strange, because her temper is as soft and fluffy
+as her hair (which mine is not), and she always seems ready to give
+way to others (which is never my case--if I can help it). On the
+occasion I am about to speak of, I could _not_ help it.
+
+It was last summer that that Bad Boy caught me, and squeezed me into a
+wicker cage. Little did I think I should ever live to be so poked out,
+and rummaged, and torn to shreds by such a thing as a boy! I bit him,
+but he got me into the cage and put a cloth over it. Then he took me
+to his father, who took me to the front door of the house, where he is
+coachman and gardener, and asked for Little Miss to come out and see
+the new pet Tom had caught for her.
+
+"It's a nasty tempered brute, but she's such a one for taming things,"
+said the coachman, whipping off the cloth to show me to the housemaid,
+and letting in a glare of light that irritated me to frenzy. I flew at
+the housemaid, and she flew into the house. Then I rolled over and
+growled and hissed under my beak, and tried to hide my eyes in my
+feathers.
+
+"Little Miss won't tame me," I muttered.
+
+She did not try long. When she heard of me she came running out, the
+wind blowing her fluffy hair about her face, and the sun shining on
+it. Fluffed out by the wind, and changing color in the light and
+shade, the hair down her back is not entirely unlike the feathers of
+my own, though less sober perhaps in its tints. Like mine it makes a
+small head look large, and as she has big wise eyes, I have seen
+creatures less like an owl than Little Miss. Her voice is not so
+hoarse as mine. It is clear and soft, as I heard when she spoke:
+
+"Oh, _how_ good of you! And how good of Tom! I do so love owls. I
+always get Mary to put the silver owl by me at luncheon, though I am
+not allowed to eat pepper. And I have a brown owl, a china one,
+sitting on a book for a letter weight. He came from Germany. And
+Captain Barton gave me an owl pencil-case on my birthday, because I
+liked hearing about his real owl, but, oh, I never hoped I should
+have a real owl of my own. It _was_ kind of Tom."
+
+To hear that Bad Boy called kind was too much for endurance, and I let
+them see how savage I felt. If the wicker work had not been very
+strong the cage would not have held me.
+
+"He's a tartar," said the coachman.
+
+"Oh, no, Williams!" said Little Miss, "he's only frightened by the
+light. Give me the cloth, please."
+
+"Take care, Miss. He'll bite you," cried the coachman, as she put the
+cloth over the cage, and then over her own head.
+
+"No, he won't! I don't mind his snapping and hissing. I want him to
+see me, and know me. Then perhaps he'll get to like me, and be tame,
+and sit on the nursery clock and look wise. Captain Barton's owl used
+to sit on his clock. Poor fellow! Dear old owlie! Don't growl, my owl.
+Can you hoot, darling? I should like to hear you hoot."
+
+Sometimes as I sit in my ivy bush, and the moon shines on the spiders'
+webs and reminds me of the threads of her hair, on a mild, sleepy
+night, if there's nothing stirring but the ivy boughs; sitting, I say,
+blinking between a dream and a doze, I fancy I see her face close to
+mine, as it was that day with the wicker work between. Our eyes
+looking at each other, and our fluffiness mixed up by the wind. Then I
+try to remember all the kind things she said to me to coax me to
+leave my ivy bush, and go to live on the nursery clock. But I can't
+remember half. I was in such a rage at the time, and when you are in a
+rage you miss a good deal, and forget a good deal.
+
+I know that at last she left off talking to me, and I could see her
+wise eyes swimming in tears. Then she left me alone under the cloth.
+
+"Well, Miss," said the coachman, "you don't make much of him, do ye?
+He's a Tartar, Miss, I'm afraid."
+
+"I think, Williams, that he's too old. Captain Barton's owl was a
+little owlet when he first got him. I shall never tame this one,
+Williams, and I never was so disappointed in all my life. Captain
+Barton said he kept an owl to keep himself good and wise, because
+nobody could be foolish in the face of an owl sitting on his clock. He
+says both his godfathers are dead, and he has taken his owl for his
+godfather. These are his jokes, Williams, but I had set my heart on
+having an owl on the nursery clock. I do think I have never wished so
+much for anything in the world as that Tom's owl would be our Bird of
+Wisdom. But he never will. He will never let me tame him. He wants to
+be a wild owl all his life. I love him very much, and I should like
+him to have what he wants, and not be miserable. Please thank Tom very
+much, and please ask him to let him go."
+
+"I'm sorry I brought him, Miss, to trouble you," said the coachman.
+"But Tom won't let him go. He'd a lot of trouble catching him, and if
+he's no good to you, Tom'll be glad of him to stuff. He's got some
+glass eyes out of a stuffed fox the moths ate, and he's bent on
+stuffing an owl, is Tom. The eyes would be too big for a pheasant, but
+they'll look well enough in an owl, he thinks."
+
+My hearing is very acute, and not a word of that Bad Boy's brutal
+intentions was lost on me. I shrunk among my feathers and shivered
+with despair; but when I heard the voice of Little Miss I rounded my
+ear once more.
+
+"No, Williams, no! He must not be stuffed. Oh, please beg Tom to come
+to me. Perhaps I can give him something to persuade him not. If he
+must stuff an owl, please, please let him stuff a strange owl. One I
+haven't made friends with. Not this one. He is very wild, but he is
+very lovely and soft, and I do so want him to be let go."
+
+"Well, Miss, I'll send Tom and you can settle it with him. All I say,
+he's a Tartar, and stuffing's too good for him."
+
+Whether she bribed Tom, or persuaded him, I don't know, but Little
+Miss got her way, and that Bad Boy let me go, and I went back to my
+Ivy Bush.
+
+
+OWLHOOT I.
+
+    "What can't be cured must be endured."
+
+--_Old Proverb._
+
+
+It was the wish to see Little Miss once more that led my wings past
+her nursery window; besides, I had a curiosity to look at the clock.
+
+It is an eight-day clock, in a handsome case, and would, undoubtedly,
+have been a becoming perch for a bird of my dignified appearance, but
+I will not describe it to-day. Nor will I speak of my meditations as I
+sit in my Ivy Bush like any other common owl, and reflect that if I
+had not had my own way, but had listened to Little Miss, I might have
+sat on an Eight-day Clock, and been godfather to the children. It is
+not seemly for an owl to doubt his own wisdom, but as I have taken
+upon me, for the sake of Little Miss, to be a child's counsellor, I
+will just observe, in passing, that though it is very satisfactory at
+the time to get your own way, you may live to wish that you had taken
+other folk's advice instead.
+
+From that nursery I have taken flight to others. I sail by the
+windows, and throw a searching eye through these bars which are, I
+believe, placed there to keep top-heavy babies from tumbling out.
+Sometimes I peer down the chimney. From the nook of a wall or the
+hollow of a tree, I overlook the children's gardens and playgrounds. I
+have an eye to several schools, and I fancy (though I may be wrong)
+that I should look well seated on the top of an easel--just above the
+black-board, with a piece of chalk in my feathery foot.
+
+Not that I have any notion of playing schoolmaster, or even of
+advising schoolmasters and parents how to make their children good and
+wise. I am the Children's Owl--their very own--and all my good advice
+is intended to help them to improve themselves.
+
+It is wonderful how children _do_ sometimes improve! I knew a fine
+little fellow, much made of by his family and friends, who used to be
+so peevish about all the little ups and downs of life, and had such a
+lamentable whine in his voice when he was thwarted in any trifle, that
+if you had heard without seeing him, you'd have sworn that the most
+miserable wretch in the world was bewailing the worst of catastrophes
+with failing breath. And all the while there was not a handsomer,
+healthier, better fed, better bred, better dressed, and more dearly
+loved, little boy in all the parish. When you might have thought, by
+the sound of it, that some starving skeleton of a creature was moaning
+for a bit of bread, the young gentleman was only sobbing through the
+soap and lifting his voice above the towels, because Nurse would wash
+his fair and rosy cheeks. And when cries like those of one vanquished
+in battle and begging and praying for his life, rang through the hall
+and up the front stairs, it proved to be nothing worse than Master
+Jack imploring his friends to "_please, please_," and "_do, do_," let
+him stay out to run in a final "go as you please" race with the young
+Browns (who dine a quarter of an hour later), instead of going in
+promptly when the gong sounded for luncheon.
+
+Now the other day I peeped into a bedroom of that little boy's home.
+The sun was up, and so was Jack, but one of his numerous Aunts was
+not. She was in bed with a headache, and to this her pale face, her
+eyes shunning the light like my own, and her hair restlessly tossed
+over the pillow bore witness. When a knock came on the bedroom door,
+she started with pain, but lay down again and cried--"Come in!"
+
+The door opened, but no one came in; and outside the voices of the
+little boy and his nurse were audible.
+
+"I want to show her my new coat."
+
+"You can't, Master Jack. Your Aunt's got a dreadful headache, and
+can't be disturbed."
+
+No peevish complaints from Jack: only a deep sigh.
+
+"I'm very sorry about her headache; and I'm very very sorry about my
+coat. For I am going out, and it will never be so new again."
+
+His aunt spoke feebly.
+
+"Nurse, I must see his coat. Let him come in."
+
+Enter Jack.
+
+It was his first manly suit, and he was trying hard for a manly soul
+beneath it, as a brave boy should. He came in very gently, but with
+conscious pride glowing in his rosy cheeks and out of his shining
+eyes. His cheeks were very red, for a step in life is a warming thing,
+and so is a cloth suit when you've been used to frocks.
+
+It was a bottle-green coat, with large mother-o'-pearl buttons and
+three coachman's capes; and there were leggings to match. The beaver
+hat, too, was new, and becomingly cocked, as he stood by his Aunt's
+bedside and smiled.
+
+"What a fine coat, Jack!"
+
+"Made by a tailor, Auntie Julie. Real pockets!"
+
+"You don't say so!"
+
+He nodded.
+
+"Leggings too!" and he stuck up one leg at a sudden right angle on to
+the bed; a rash proceeding, but the boy has a straight little figure,
+and with a hop or two he kept his balance.
+
+"My dear Jack, they are grand. How warm they must keep your legs!"
+
+He shook his beaver hat.
+
+"No. They only tickles. That's what they do."
+
+There was a pause. His Aunt remembered the old peevish ways. She did
+not want to encourage him to discard his winter leggings, and was
+doubtful what to say. But in a moment more his eyes shone, and his
+face took that effulgent expression which some children have when they
+are resolved upon being good.
+
+"--_and as I can't shake off the tickle, I have to bear it_," added
+the little gentleman.
+
+I call him the little gentleman advisedly. There is no stronger sign
+of high breeding in young people, than a cheerful endurance of the
+rubs of life. A temper that fits one's fate, a spirit that rises with
+the occasion. It is this kind of courage which the Gentlemen of
+England have shown from time immemorial, through peace and war, by
+land and sea, in every country and climate of the habitable globe.
+Jack is a child of that Empire on which the sun never sets, and if he
+live he is like to have larger opportunities of bearing discomfort
+than was afforded by the wooly worry of his bottle-green leggings. I
+am in good hopes that he will not be found wanting.
+
+Some such thoughts, I believe, occurred to his Aunt.
+
+"That's right, Jack. What a man you are!"
+
+The rosy cheeks became carmine, and Jack flung himself upon his Aunt,
+and kissed her with resounding smacks.
+
+A somewhat wrecked appearance which she presented after this
+boisterous hug, recalled the headache to his mind, and as he settled
+the beaver hat, which had gone astray, he said ruefully--
+
+"Is your headache _very_ bad, Auntie Julie!"
+
+"Rather bad, Jack. _And as I can't shake it off, I have to bear it._"
+
+He went away on tiptoe, and it was only after he had carefully and
+gently closed the bedroom door behind him, that he departed by leaps
+and bounds to show himself in his bottle-green coat and capes, and
+white buttons and leggings to match, and beaver hat to boot, first to
+the young Browns, and after that to the General Public.
+
+As an Observer, I may say that it was a sight worth seeing; and as a
+Bird of some wisdom, I prophesy well of that boy.
+
+
+OWLHOOT II.
+
+    "Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling."
+
+--_The Raven._
+
+    "Taffy was a thief."--_Old Song._
+
+
+I find the following letters at the Hole in the Tree.
+
+"X LINES, SOUTH CAMP, ALDERSHOT.
+
+"SIR,--You speak with great feeling of that elevated position (I
+allude, of course, to the top of the eight-day clock), which
+circumstances led you somewhat hastily to decline. It would
+undoubtedly have become you, and less cannot be said for such a
+situation as the summit of an easel, overlooking the black-board, in
+an establishment for the education of youth. Meanwhile it may interest
+you to hear of a bird (not of your wisdom, but with parts, and a
+respectable appearance) who secured a somewhat similar seat in
+adopting that kind of home which you would not. It was in driving
+through a wood at some little distance from the above address that we
+found a wounded crow, and brought him home to our hut. He became a
+member of the family, and received the name of Slyboots, for reasons
+with which it is unnecessary to trouble you. He was made very welcome
+in the drawing-room, but he preferred the kitchen. The kitchen is a
+brick room detached from the wooden hut. It was once, in fact, an
+armorer's shop, and has since been converted to a kitchen. The floor
+is rudely laid, and the bricks gape here and there. A barrack fender
+guards the fire-place, and a barrack poker reposes in the fender. It
+is a very ponderous poker of unusual size and the commonest
+appearance, but with a massive knob at the upper end which was wont to
+project far and high above the hearth. It was to this seat that
+Slyboots elevated himself by his own choice, and became the Kitchen
+Crow. Here he spent hours watching the cook, and taking tit-bits
+behind her back. He ate what he could (more, I fear, than he ought),
+and hid the rest in holes and corners. The genial neighborhood of the
+oven caused him no inconvenience. His glossy coat, being already as
+black as a coal, was not damaged by a certain grimeyness which is
+undoubtedly characteristic of the (late) armorer's shop, of which the
+chimney is an inveterate smoker. Companies of his relatives constantly
+enter the camp by ways over which the sentries have no control (the
+Balloon Brigade being not yet even in the clouds); but Slyboots showed
+no disposition to join them. They flaunt and forage in the Lines, they
+inspect the ashpits and cookhouses, they wheel and manoeuvre on the
+parades, but Slyboots sat serene upon his poker. He had a cook-house
+all to himself.... He died. We must all die; but we need not all die
+of repletion, which, I fear, was his case. He buried his last meal
+between two bricks in the kitchen floor, and covered it very tidily
+with a bit of newspaper. The poker is vacant. Sir, I was bred to the
+sword and not to the pen, but I have a foolish desire for literary
+fame. I should be better pleased to be in print than to be
+promoted--for that matter one seems as near as the other--and my wife
+agrees with me. She is of a literary turn, and has helped me in the
+composition of this, but we both fear that the story having no moral
+you will not admit it into your Owlhoots. But if your wisdom could
+supply this, or your kindness overlook the defect, it would afford
+great consolation to a bereaved family to have printed a biography of
+the dear deceased. For we were greatly attached to him, though he
+preferred the cook. I can at any rate give you my word as a man of
+honor that these incidents are true, though, out of soldierly modesty,
+I will not trouble you with my name, but with much respect subscribe
+myself by that of
+
+SLYBOOTS."
+
+The gallant officer is too modest. This biography is not only true but
+brief, and these are rare merits in a memoir. As to the moral--it is
+not far to seek. Dear children, for whom I hoot! avoid greediness. If
+Slyboots had eaten tit-bits in moderation, he might be sitting on the
+poker to this day. I have great pleasure in making his brief career
+public to the satisfaction of his gallant friend, and I should be glad
+to hear that the latter had got his step by the same post as his
+Owlhoot.
+
+The second letter is much farther from literary excellence than the
+first. I fear this little boy plays truant from school as well as
+taking apples which do not belong to him. It is high time that he
+learnt to spell, and also to observe the difference between _meum_ and
+_tuum_. From not being well grounded on these two points, many boys
+have lost good situations in life when they grew up to be men.
+
+"deer mister howl,--as you say you see behind your bak i spose its
+you told varmer jones of me for theres a tree with a whole in it just
+behind the orchurd he wolloped I shameful and I'll have no more of his
+apples they be a deal sowerer than yud think though they look so red,
+but do you call yourself a childerns friend and tell tails i dont i
+can tell you.
+
+TOM TURNIP."
+
+     [PUBLISHER'S NOTE. Mrs. Ewing did not live to complete "The Owl
+     in the Ivy Bush." This, and "Tiny's Tricks and Toby's Tricks"
+     were first published after her death.]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+_Roberts Brothers Juvenile Books._
+
+DEAR DAUGHTER DOROTHY.
+
+_BY MISS A. G. PLYMPTON._
+
+With seven illustrations by the author. Small 4to. Cloth.
+
+PRICE, $1.00.
+
+[Illustration: DEAR DAUGHTER DOROTHY.]
+
+     "The child is father of the man,"--so Wordsworth sang; and here
+     is a jolly story of a little girl who was her father's mother in
+     a very real way. There were hard lines for him; and she was
+     fruitful of devices to help him along, even having an auction of
+     the pretty things that had been given her from time to time, and
+     realizing a neat little sum. Then her father was accused of
+     peculation; and she, sweetly ignorant of the ways of justice,
+     went to the judge and labored with him, to no effect, though he
+     was wondrous kind. Then in court she gave just the wrong
+     evidence, because it showed how poor her father was, and so
+     established a presumption of his great necessity and desperation.
+     But the _Deus ex machina_--the wicked partner--arrived at the
+     right moment, and owned up, and the good father was cleared, and
+     little Daughter Dorothy was made glad. But this meagre summary
+     gives but a poor idea of the ins and outs of this charming story,
+     and no idea of the happy way in which it is told.--_Christian
+     Register._
+
+ROBERTS BROTHERS, Boston.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+LOUISA M. ALCOTT'S WRITINGS.
+
+_Miss Alcott is really a benefactor of households_--H H
+
+_Miss Alcott has a faculty of entering into the lives and
+feelings of children that is conspicuously wanting in most
+writers who address them, and to this cause, to the consciousness
+among her readers that they are hearing about people like
+themselves, instead of abstract qualities labelled with names,
+the popularity of her books is due_--MRS SARAH J HALE
+
+_Dear Aunt Jo! You are embalmed in the thoughts and loves of
+thousands of little men and women_--EXCHANGE
+
+Little Women, or Meg, Jo, Beth, and Amy With
+illustrations 16mo                                                  $1.50
+
+Hospital Sketches, and Camp and Fireside Stories With
+illustrations 16mo                                                   1.50
+
+An Old-Fashioned Girl With illustrations 16mo                        1.50
+
+Little Men Life at Plumfield with Jo's Boys With
+illustrations 16mo                                                   1.50
+
+Jo's Boys and How they Turned Out A sequel to Little Men
+With portrait of Aunt Jo 16mo                                        1.50
+
+Eight Cousins, or The Aunt Hill With illustrations 16mo              1.50
+
+Rose in Bloom A sequel to Eight Cousins 16mo                         1.50
+
+Under the Lilacs With illustrations 16mo                             1.50
+
+Jack and Jill A Village Story With illustrations 16mo                1.50
+
+Work A Story of Experience With character illustrations by
+Sol Eytinge 16mo                                                     1.50
+
+Moods A Novel New edition revised and enlarged 16mo                  1.50
+
+A Modern Mephistopheles, and A Whisper in the Dark 16mo              1.50
+
+Silver Pitchers, and Independence A Centennial Love Story
+16mo                                                                 1.25
+
+Proverb Stories New edition, revised and enlarged 16mo               1.25
+
+Spinning Wheel Stories With illustrations 16mo                       1.25
+
+A Garland for Girls and Other Stories With illustrations
+16mo                                                                 1.25
+
+My Boys &c First volume of Aunt Jo's Scrap Bag 16mo                 $1.00
+
+Shawl-Straps Second volume of Aunt Jo's Scrap Bag 16mo               1.00
+
+Cupid and Chow-Chow, &c Third volume of Aunt Jo's Scrap Bag
+16mo                                                                 1.00
+
+My Girls, &c Fourth volume of Aunt Jo's Scrap Bag 16mo               1.00
+
+Jimmy's Cruise in the Pinafore, &c Fifth volume of Aunt Jo's
+Scrap Bag 16mo                                                       1.00
+
+An Old-Fashioned Thanksgiving, &c Sixth volume of Aunt Jo's
+Scrap Bag 16mo                                                       1.00
+
+Little Women Illustrated Embellished with nearly 200
+characteristic illustrations from original designs drawn
+expressly for this edition of this noted American Classic
+One small quarto bound in cloth with emblematic designs              2.50
+
+Little Women Series Comprising Little Women Little Men Eight
+Cousins Under the Lilacs An Old Fashioned Girl Jo's Boys Rose in
+Bloom Jack and Jill 8 large 16mo volumes in a handsome box          12.00
+
+Miss Alcott's novels in uniform binding in sets Moods Work
+Hospital Sketches A Modern Mephistopheles and A Whisper in
+the Dark 4 volumes 16mo                                              6.00
+
+Lulu's Library Vols I II III A collection of New Stories
+16mo                                                                 1.00
+
+
+_These books are for sale at all bookstores, or will be mailed, post
+paid, on receipt of price, to any address_
+
+ROBERTS BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS,
+
+_Boston, Mass._
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Last Words, by Juliana Horatia Ewing
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+
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Last Words, by Juliana Horatia Ewing
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Last Words
+       A Final Collection of Stories
+
+Author: Juliana Horatia Ewing
+
+Illustrator: H. D. Murphy
+
+Release Date: June 6, 2008 [EBook #25710]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LAST WORDS ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Sankar Viswanathan, Juliet Sutherland, and the
+Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
+
+
+
+
+
+
+</pre>
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;">
+<img src="images/cover.jpg" width="600" height="668" alt="Front Cover"  />
+</div>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;">
+<img class="img1" src="images/frontis.jpg" width="400" height="690" alt="(signed) Juliana Horatia Ewing."  />
+<span class="caption">(signed) Juliana Horatia Ewing.</span>
+</div>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<h1>LAST WORDS.</h1>
+
+<h3>A Final Collection of Stories.</h3>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<h3>BY</h3>
+
+<h2>JULIANA HORATIA EWING,</h2>
+
+<h4>AUTHOR OF "JAN OF THE WINDMILL," "SIX TO SIXTEEN," "A GREAT
+  EMERGENCY," "WE AND THE WORLD," "JACKANAPES, AND OTHER TALES,"
+  "MELCHIOR'S DREAM, BROTHERS OF PITY, AND OTHER TALES," "LOB
+  LIE-BY-THE-FIRE, THE BROWNIES, AND OTHER TALES," "MRS.
+OVERTHEWAY's REMEMBRANCES," "A FLAT IRON FOR A FARTHING."</h4>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<h2><i>WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY H. D. MURPHY.</i></h2>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<h3>BOSTON:</h3>
+<h3>ROBERTS BROTHERS.</h3>
+<h3>1891.</h3>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<h4><i>Copyright, 1891</i>,</h4>
+  <h4><span class="smcap">By Roberts Brothers.</span></h4>
+
+
+  <hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2>PREFACE.</h2>
+
+
+<p>"Mary's Meadow" first appeared in the numbers of <i>Aunt Judy's
+Magazine</i> from November 1883, to March 1884. It was the last serial
+story which Mrs. <span class="smcap">Ewing</span> wrote, and I believe the subject of it arose
+from the fact that in 1883, after having spent several years in moving
+from place to place, she went to live at Villa Ponente, Taunton, where
+she had a settled home with a garden, and was able to revert to the
+practical cultivation of flowers, which had been one of the favorite
+pursuits of her girlhood.</p>
+
+<p>The Game of the Earthly Paradise was received with great delight by
+the readers of the story; one family of children adopted the word
+"Mary-meadowing" to describe the work which they did towards
+beautifying hedges and bare places; and my sister received many
+letters of enquiry about the various plants mentioned in her tale.
+These she answered in the <i>Correspondence</i> columns of the Magazine,
+and in July 1884, it was suggested that a "Parkinson Society" should
+be formed, whose objects were "to search out and cultivate old garden
+flowers which have become scarce; to exchange seeds and plants; to
+plant waste places with hardy flowers; to circulate books on gardening
+amongst the Members;" and further, "to try to prevent the
+extermination of rare wild flowers, as well as of garden treasures."</p>
+
+<p>Reports of the Society, with correspondence on the exchanges of plants
+and books, and quaint local names of flowers, were given in the
+Magazine until it was brought to a close after Mrs. <span class="smcap">Ewing's</span> death: but
+I am glad to say that the Society itself is still in existence, and
+any one who wishes to procure a copy of its Rules can do so by sending
+a stamped envelope to the Secretary, <i>Miss Alice Sargant, 7 Belsize
+Grove, N. W.</i> Miss <span class="smcap">Sargant</span> was the originator of the scheme, so its
+management remains in the best possible hands, and Professor <span class="smcap">Oliver</span>,
+of Kew Gardens, has consented to become President in Mrs. <span class="smcap">Ewing's</span>
+place. She owed to him her first introduction to <i>Paradisi in sole
+Paradisus terrestris</i>, as well as many other kind acts of help on
+flower subjects.</p>
+
+<p class="f2">HORATIA K. F. GATTY.</p>
+
+<p class="f1"><i>May, 1886.</i></p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2>CONTENTS</h2>
+<table summary="Contents">
+<tr><td></td><td class="tocpg">Page</td></tr>
+<tr><td><a href="#MARYS_MEADOW">MARY'S MEADOW,</a></td>
+<td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_9">9</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr><td><a href="#LETTERS_FROM_A_LITTLE_GARDEN">LETTERS FROM A LITTLE GARDEN,</a></td>
+<td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_102">102</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr><td><a href="#SNAP-DRAGONS">SNAP-DRAGONS,</a></td>
+<td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_137">137</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr><td><a href="#DANDELION_CLOCKS">DANDELION CLOCKS,</a></td>
+<td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_170">170</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr><td><a href="#THE_BLIND_MAN_AND_THE_TALKING_DOG">THE BLIND MAN AND THE TALKING DOG,</a></td>
+<td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_181">181</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr><td><a href="#SO-SO">SO-SO,</a></td>
+<td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_188">188</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr><td><a href="#THE_TRINITY_FLOWER">THE TRINITY FLOWER,</a></td>
+<td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_195">195</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr><td><a href="#THE_KYRKEGRIM_TURNED_PREACHER">THE KYRKEGRIM TURNED PREACHER,</a></td>
+<td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_211">211</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr><td><a href="#LADDERS_TO_HEAVEN">LADDERS TO HEAVEN,</a></td>
+<td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_219">219</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr><td><a href="#SUNFLOWERS_AND_A_RUSHLIGHT">SUNFLOWERS AND A RUSHLIGHT,</a></td>
+<td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_227">227</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr><td><a href="#TINYS_TRICKS_AND_TOBYS_TRICKS">TINY'S TRICKS AND TOBY'S TRICKS,</a></td>
+<td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_262">262</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr><td><a href="#THE_OWL_IN_THE_IVY_BUSH">THE OWL IN THE IVY BUSH,</a></td>
+<td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_270">270</a></td>
+</tr>
+</table>
+
+
+<hr style='width: 65%;' />
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2">How fresh, O Lord, how sweet and clean<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Are Thy returns! ev'n as the flowers in spring;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">To which, besides their own demean,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The late-past frosts tributes of pleasure bring.<br /></span>
+<span class="i5">Grief melts away<br /></span>
+<span class="i5">Like snow in May,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">As if there were no such cold thing.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2">Who would have thought my shrivel'd heart<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Could have recover'd greenness? It was gone<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Quite under ground; as flowers depart<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To see their mother-root, when they have blown;<br /></span>
+<span class="i5">Where they together<br /></span>
+<span class="i5">All the hard weather,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Dead to the world, keep house unknown.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+<hr style='width: 25%;' />
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2">O that I once past changing were,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Fast in Thy Paradise, where no flower can wither!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Many a spring I shoot up fair,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Offering at Heaven, growing and groaning thither;<br /></span>
+<span class="i5">Nor doth my flower<br /></span>
+<span class="i5">Want a spring shower,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">My sins and I joining together.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+<hr style='width: 25%;' />
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2">These are Thy wonders, Lord of love,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To make us see we are but flowers that glide:<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Which when we once can find and prove,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thou hast a garden for us, where to bide.<br /></span>
+<span class="i5">Who would be more,<br /></span>
+<span class="i5">Swelling through store,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Forfeit their Paradise by their pride.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="f2">&mdash;<span class="smcap">George Herbert</span></p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[9]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="MARYS_MEADOW" id="MARYS_MEADOW"></a>MARY'S MEADOW.</h2>
+
+<h3>CHAPTER I.</h3>
+<p>Mother is always trying to make us love our neighbors as ourselves.</p>
+
+<p>She does so despise us for greediness, or grudging, or snatching, or
+not sharing what we have got, or taking the best and leaving the rest,
+or helping ourselves first, or pushing forward, or praising Number
+One, or being Dogs in the Manger, or anything selfish. And we cannot
+bear her to despise us!</p>
+
+<p>We despise being selfish, too; but very often we forget. Besides, it
+is sometimes rather difficult to love your neighbor as yourself when
+you want a thing very much; and Arthur says he believes it is
+particularly difficult if it is your next-door-neighbor, and that that
+is why Father and the Old Squire quarrelled about the footpath through
+Mary's Meadow.</p>
+
+<p>The Old Squire is not really his name, but that is what people call
+him. He is very rich. His place comes next to ours, and it is much
+bigger, and he has quantities of fields, and Father has only got a
+few; but there are two fields beyond Mary's Meadow which<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[10]</a></span> belong to
+Father, though the Old Squire wanted to buy them. Father would not
+sell them, and he says he has a right of way through Mary's Meadow to
+go to his fields, but the Old Squire says he has nothing of the kind,
+and that is what they quarrelled about.</p>
+
+<p>Arthur says if you quarrel, and are too grown-up to punch each other's
+heads, you go to law; and if going to law doesn't make it up, you
+appeal. They went to law, I know, for Mother cried about it; and I
+suppose it did not make it up, for the Old Squire appealed.</p>
+
+<p>After that he used to ride about all day on his grey horse, with
+Saxon, his yellow bull-dog, following him, to see that we did not
+trespass on Mary's Meadow. I think he thought that if we children were
+there, Saxon would frighten us, for I do not suppose he knew that we
+knew him. But Saxon used often to come with the Old Squire's Scotch
+Gardener to see our gardener, and when they were looking at the wall
+fruit, Saxon used to come snuffing after us.</p>
+
+<p>He is the nicest dog I know. He looks very savage, but he is only very
+funny. His lower jaw sticks out, which makes him grin, and some people
+think he is gnashing his teeth with rage. We think it looks as if he
+were laughing&mdash;like Mother Hubbard's dog, when she brought home his
+coffin, and he wasn't dead&mdash;but it really is only the shape of his
+jaw. I loved Saxon the first day I saw him, and he likes me,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[11]</a></span> and
+licks my face. But what he likes best of all are Bath Oliver Biscuits.</p>
+
+<p>One day the Scotch Gardener saw me feeding him, and he pulled his red
+beard, and said "Ye do weel to mak hay while the sun shines, Saxon, my
+man. There's sma' sight o' young leddies and sweet cakes at hame for
+ye!" And Saxon grinned, and wagged his tail, and the Scotch Gardener
+touched his hat to me, and took him away.</p>
+
+<p>The Old Squire's Weeding Woman is our nursery-maid's aunt. She is not
+very old, but she looks so, because she has lost her teeth, and is
+bent nearly double. She wears a large hood, and carries a big basket,
+which she puts down outside the nursery door when she comes to tea
+with Bessy. If it is a fine afternoon, and we are gardening, she lets
+us borrow the basket, and then we play at being weeding women in each
+other's gardens.</p>
+
+<p>She tells Bessy about the Old Squire. She says&mdash;"He do be a real old
+skinflint, the Old Zquire a be!" But she thinks it&mdash;"zim as if 'twas
+having ne'er a wife nor child for to keep the natur in 'un, so his
+heart do zim to shrivel, like they walnuts Butler tells us of as a
+zets down for desart. The Old Zquire he mostly eats ne'er a one now's
+teeth be so bad. But a counts them every night when's desart's done.
+And a keeps 'em till the karnels be mowldy, and a keeps 'em till they
+be dry, and a keeps 'em till they be dust;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[12]</a></span> and when the karnels is
+dust, a cracks aal the lot of 'em when desart's done, zo's no one
+mayn't have no good of they walnuts, since they be no good to he."</p>
+
+<p>Arthur can imitate the Weeding Woman exactly, and he can imitate the
+Scotch Gardener, too. Chris (that is Christopher, our youngest
+brother), is very fond of "The Zquire and the Walnuts." He gets nuts,
+or anything, like shells or bits of flower-pots, that will break, and
+something to hit with, and when Arthur comes to "<i>The karnels is
+dust</i>," Chris smashes everything before him, shouting, "<i>A cracks aal
+the lot of 'em</i>" and then he throws the bits all over the place, with
+"<i>They be no good to he</i>."</p>
+
+<p>Father laughed very much when he heard Arthur do the Weeding Woman,
+and Mother could not help laughing, too; but she did not like it,
+because she does not like us to repeat servants' gossip.</p>
+
+<p>The Weeding Woman is a great gossip. She gossips all the time she is
+having her tea, and it is generally about the Old Squire. She used to
+tell Bessy that his flowers bloomed themselves to death, and the fruit
+rotted on the walls, because he would let nothing be picked, and gave
+nothing away, except now and then a grand present of fruit to Lady
+Catherine, for which the old lady returned no thanks, but only a rude
+message to say that his peaches were over-ripe, and he had better have
+sent the grapes to the Infirmary. Adela asked&mdash;"Why is the Old Squire
+so<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[13]</a></span> kind to Lady Catherine?" and Father said&mdash;"Because we are so fond
+of Lords and Ladies in this part of the country." I thought he meant
+the lords and ladies in the hedges, for we are very fond of them. But
+he didn't. He meant real lords and ladies.</p>
+
+<p>There are splendid lords and ladies in the hedges of Mary's Meadow. I
+never can make up my mind when I like them best. In April and May,
+when they have smooth plum-colored coats and pale green cowls, and
+push up out of last year's dry leaves, or in August and September,
+when their hoods have fallen away, and their red berries shine through
+the dusty grass and nettles that have been growing up round them all
+the summer out of the ditch.</p>
+
+<p>Flowers were one reason for our wanting to go to Mary's Meadow.
+Another reason was the nightingale. There was one that used always to
+sing there, and Mother had made us a story about it.</p>
+
+<p>We are very fond of fairy books, and one of our greatest favorites is
+Bechstein's "As Pretty as Seven." It has very nice pictures, and we
+particularly like "The Man in the Moon, and How He Came There;" but
+the story doesn't end well, for he came there by gathering sticks on
+Sunday, and then scoffing about it, and he has been there ever since.
+But Mother made us a new fairy tale about the nightingale in Mary's
+Meadow being the naughty woodcutter's only<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[14]</a></span> child, who was turned into
+a little brown bird that lives on in the woods, and sits on a tree on
+summer nights, and sings to its father up in the moon.</p>
+
+<p>But after our Father and the Old Squire went to law, Mother told us we
+must be content with hearing the nightingale from a distance. We did
+not really know about the lawsuit then, we only understood that the
+Old Squire was rather crosser than usual; and we rather resented being
+warned not to go into Mary's Meadow, especially as Father kept saying
+we had a perfect right so to do. I thought that Mother was probably
+afraid of Saxon being set at us, and of course I had no fears about
+him. Indeed, I used to wish that it could happen that the Old Squire,
+riding after me as full of fury as King Padella in the "Rose and the
+Ring," might set Saxon on me, as the lions were let loose to eat the
+Princess Rosalba. "Instead of devouring her with their great teeth, it
+was with kisses they gobbled her up. They licked her pretty feet, they
+nuzzled their noses in her lap," and she put her arms "round their
+tawny necks and kissed them." Saxon gobbles us with kisses, and
+nuzzles his nose, and we put our arms round his tawny neck. What a
+surprise it would be to the Old Squire to see him! And then I wondered
+if my feet were as pretty as Rosalba's, and I thought they were, and I
+wondered if Saxon would lick them, supposing that by any possibility
+it could ever happen that I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[15]</a></span> should be barefoot in Mary's Meadow at
+the mercy of the Old Squire and his bull-dog.</p>
+
+<p>One does not, as a rule, begin to go to bed by letting down one's
+hair, and taking off one's shoes and stockings. But one night I was
+silly enough to do this, just to see if I looked (in the mirror) at
+all like the picture of Rosalba in the "Rose and the Ring." I was
+trying to see my feet as well as my hair, when I heard Arthur jumping
+the three steps in the middle of the passage between his room and
+mine. I had only just time to spring into the window seat, and tuck my
+feet under me, when he gave a hasty knock, and bounced in with his
+telescope in his hand.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, Mary," he cried, "I want you to see the Old Squire, with a
+great-coat over his evening clothes, and a squosh hat, marching up and
+down Mary's Meadow."</p>
+
+<p>And he pulled up my blind, and threw open the window, and arranged the
+telescope for me.</p>
+
+<p>It was a glorious night. The moon was rising round and large out of
+the mist, and dark against its brightness I could see the figure of
+the Old Squire pacing the pathway over Mary's Meadow.</p>
+
+<p>Saxon was not there; but on a slender branch of a tree in the hedgerow
+sat the nightingale, singing to comfort the poor, lonely old Man in
+the Moon.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[16]</a></span></p>
+
+
+<h3>CHAPTER II.</h3>
+<p>Lady Catherine is Mother's aunt by marriage, and Mother is one of the
+few people she is not rude to.</p>
+
+<p>She is very rude, and yet she is very kind, especially to the poor.
+But she does kind things so rudely, that people now and then wish that
+she would mind her own business instead. Father says so, though Mother
+would say that that is gossip. But I think sometimes that Mother is
+thinking of Aunt Catherine when she tells us that in kindness it is
+not enough to be good to others, one should also learn to be gracious.</p>
+
+<p>Mother thought she was very rude to <i>her</i> once, when she said, quite
+out loud, that Father is very ill-tempered, and that, if Mother had
+not the temper of an angel, the house could never hold together.
+Mother was very angry, but Father did not mind. He says our house will
+hold together much longer than most houses, because he swore at the
+workmen, and went to law with the builder for using dirt instead of
+mortar, so the builder had to pull down what was done wrong, and do it
+right; and Father says he knows he has a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[17]</a></span> bad temper, but he does not
+mean to pull the house over our heads at present, unless he has to get
+bricks out to heave at Lady Catherine if she becomes quite unbearable.</p>
+
+<p>We do not like dear Father to be called bad-tempered. He comes home
+cross sometimes, and then we have to be very quiet, and keep out of
+the way; and sometimes he goes out rather cross, but not always. It
+was what Chris said about that that pleased Lady Catherine so much.</p>
+
+<p>It was one day when Father came home cross, and was very much vexed to
+find us playing about the house. Arthur had got a new adventure book,
+and he had been reading to us about the West Coast of Africa, and
+niggers, and tom-toms, and "going Fantee;" and James gave him a lot of
+old corks out of the pantry, and let him burn them in a candle. It
+rained, and we could not go out; so we all blacked our faces with
+burnt cork, and played at the West Coast in one of the back passages,
+and at James being the captain of a slave ship; because he tried to
+catch us when we beat the tom-toms too near him when he was cleaning
+the plate, to make him give us rouge and whitening to tattoo with.</p>
+
+<p>Dear Father came home rather earlier than we expected, and rather
+cross. Chris did not hear the front door, because his ears were
+pinched up with tying curtain rings on to them, and just at that
+minute<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[18]</a></span> he shouted, "I go Fantee!" and tore his pinafore right up the
+middle, and burst into the front hall with it hanging in two pieces by
+the armholes, his eyes shut, and a good grab of James's rouge powder
+smudged on his nose, yelling and playing the tom-tom on what is left
+of Arthur's drum.</p>
+
+<p>Father was very angry indeed, and Chris was sent to bed, and not
+allowed to go down to dessert; and Lady Catherine was dining at our
+house, so he missed her.</p>
+
+<p>Next time she called, and saw Chris, she asked him why he had not been
+at dessert that night. Mother looked at Chris, and said "Why was it
+Chris? Tell Aunt Catherine." Mother thought he would say "Because I
+tore my pinafore, and made a noise in the front hall." But he smiled,
+the grave way Chris does, and said, "Because Father came home cross."
+And Lady Catherine was pleased, but Mother was vexed.</p>
+
+<p>I am quite sure Chris meant no harm, but he does say very funny
+things. Perhaps it is because his head is rather large for his body,
+with some water having got into his brain when he was very little, so
+that we have to take great care of him. And though he does say very
+odd things, very slowly, I do not think any one of us tries harder to
+be good.</p>
+
+<p>I remember once Mother had been trying to make us forgive each other's
+trespasses, and Arthur would<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[19]</a></span> say that you cannot <i>make</i> yourself feel
+kindly to them that trespass against you; and Mother said if you make
+yourself do right, then at last you get to feel right; and it was very
+soon after this that Harry and Christopher quarrelled, and would not
+forgive each other's trespasses in the least, in spite of all that I
+could do to try and make peace between them.</p>
+
+<p>Chris went off in the sulks, but after a long time I came upon him in
+the toy-cupboard, looking rather pale and very large-headed, and
+winding up his new American top, and talking to himself.</p>
+
+<p>When he talks to himself he mutters, so I could only just hear what he
+was saying, and he said it over and over again:</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Dos first and feels afterwards.</i>"</p>
+
+<p>"What are you doing, Chris?" I asked.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm getting ready my new top to give to Harry. <i>Dos first and feels
+afterwards.</i>"</p>
+
+<p>"Well," I said, "Christopher, you <i>are</i> a good boy."</p>
+
+<p>"I should like to punch his head," said Chris&mdash;and he said it in just
+the same sing-song tone&mdash;"but I'm getting the top ready. <i>Dos first
+and feels afterwards.</i>"</p>
+
+<p>And he went on winding and muttering.</p>
+
+<p>Afterwards he told me that the "feels" came sooner than he expected.
+Harry wouldn't take his top, and they made up their quarrel.</p>
+
+<p>Christopher is very simple, but sometimes we think<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[20]</a></span> he is also a
+little sly. He can make very wily excuses about things he does not
+like.</p>
+
+<p>He does not like Nurse to hold back his head and wash his face; and at
+last one day she let him go downstairs with a dirty face, and then
+complained to Mother. So Mother asked Chris why he was so naughty
+about having his face washed, and he said, quite gravely, "I do think
+it would be <i>such pity</i> if the water got into my head again by
+accident." Mother did not know he had ever heard about it, but she
+said, "Oh, Chris! Chris! that's one of your excuses." And he said,
+"It's not my <i>'scusis</i>. She lets a good deal get in&mdash;at my ears&mdash;and
+lather too."</p>
+
+<p>But, with all his whimsical ways, Lady Catherine is devoted to
+Christopher. She likes him far better than any one of us, and he is
+very fond of her; and they say quite rude things to each other all
+along. And Father says it is very lucky, for if she had not been so
+fond of Chris, and so ready to take him too, Mother would never have
+been persuaded to leave us when Aunt Catherine took them to the South
+of France.</p>
+
+<p>Mother had been very unwell for a long time. She has so many worries,
+and Dr. Solomon said she ought to avoid worry, and Aunt Catherine said
+worries were killing her, and Father said "Pshaw!" and Aunt Catherine
+said "Care killed the cat," and that a cat has nine lives, and a woman
+has only one;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[21]</a></span> and then Mother got worse, and Aunt Catherine wanted to
+take her abroad, and she wouldn't go; and then Christopher was ill,
+and Aunt Catherine said she would take him too, if only Mother would
+go with her; and Dr. Solomon said it might be the turning-point of his
+health, and Father said, "the turning-point which way?" but he thanked
+Lady Catherine, and they didn't quarrel; and so Mother yielded, and it
+was settled that they should go.</p>
+
+<p>Before they went, Mother spoke to me, and told me I must be a Little
+Mother to the others whilst she was away. She hoped we should all try
+to please Father, and to be unselfish with each other; but she
+expected me to try far harder than the others, and never to think of
+myself at all, so that I might fill her place whilst she was away. So
+I promised to try, and I did.</p>
+
+<p>We missed Christopher sadly. And Saxon missed him. The first time
+Saxon came to see us after Mother and Chris went away, we told him all
+about it, and he looked very sorry. Then we said that he should be our
+brother in Christopher's stead, whilst Chris was away; and he looked
+very much pleased, and wagged his tail, and licked our faces all
+round. So we told him to come and see us very often.</p>
+
+<p>He did not, but we do not think it was his fault. He is chained up so
+much.</p>
+
+<p>One day Arthur and I were walking down the road<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[22]</a></span> outside the Old
+Squire's stables, and Saxon smelt us, and we could hear him run and
+rattle his chain, and he gave deep, soft barks.</p>
+
+<p>Arthur laughed. He said, "Do you hear Saxon, Mary? Now I dare say the
+Old Squire thinks he smells tramps and wants to bite them. He doesn't
+know that Saxon smells his new sister and brother, and wishes he could
+go out walking with them in Mary's Meadow."</p>
+
+
+<h3>CHAPTER III.</h3>
+<p>Nothing comforted us so much whilst Mother and Chris were away as
+being allowed to play in the library.</p>
+
+<p>We were not usually allowed to be there so often, but when we asked
+Father he gave us leave to amuse ourselves there at the time when
+Mother would have had us with her, provided that we did not bother him
+or hurt the books. We did not hurt the books, and in the end we were
+allowed to go there as much as we liked.</p>
+
+<p>We have plenty of books of our own, and we have new ones very often:
+on birthdays and at Christmas. Sometimes they are interesting, and
+sometimes they are disappointing. Most of them have pretty pictures.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[23]</a></span>
+It was because we had been rather unlucky for some time, and had had
+disappointing ones on our birthdays, that Arthur said to me, "Look
+here, Mary, I'm not going to read any books now but grown-up ones,
+unless it is an Adventure Book. I'm sick of books for young people,
+there's so much <i>stuff</i> in them."</p>
+
+<p>We call it <i>stuff</i> when there seems to be going to be a story and it
+comes to nothing but talk; and we call it <i>stuff</i> when there is a very
+interesting picture, and you read to see what it is about, and the
+reading does not tell you, or tells you wrong.</p>
+
+<p>Both Arthur and Christopher had had disappointments in their books on
+their birthdays.</p>
+
+<p>Arthur jumped at his book at first, because there were Japanese
+pictures in it, and Uncle Charley had just been staying with us, and
+had brought beautiful Japanese pictures with him, and had told us
+Japanese fairy tales, and they were as good as Bechstein. So Arthur
+was full of Japan.</p>
+
+<p>The most beautiful picture of all was of a stork, high up in a tall,
+tall pine tree, and the branches of the pine tree, and the cones, and
+the pine needles were most beautifully drawn; and there was a nest
+with young storks in it, and behind the stork and the nest and the
+tall pine the sun was blazing with all his rays. And Uncle Charley
+told us the story to it, and it was called "the Nest of the Stork."</p>
+
+<p>So when Arthur saw a stork standing among pine<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[24]</a></span> needles in his new
+book he shouted with delight, though the pine needles were rather
+badly done, with thick strokes. But presently he said, "It's not
+nearly so good a stork as Uncle Charley's. And where's the stem of the
+pine? It looks as if the stork were on the ground and on the top of
+the pine tree, too, and there's no nest. And there's no sun. And, oh!
+Mary, what do you think is written under it? '<i>Crane and
+Water-reeds</i>.' Well, I do call that a sell!"</p>
+
+<p>Christopher's disappointment was quite as bad. Mother gave him a book
+with very nice pictures, particularly of beasts. The chief reason she
+got it for him was that there was such a very good picture of a toad,
+and Chris is so fond of toads. For months he made friends with one in
+the garden. It used to crawl away from him, and he used to creep after
+it, talking to it, and then it used to half begin to crawl up the
+garden wall, and stand so, on its hind legs, and let Chris rub its
+wrinkled back. The toad in the picture was exactly like Christopher's
+toad, and he ran about the house with the book in his arms begging us
+to read him the story about Dear Toady.</p>
+
+<p>We were all busy but Arthur, and he said, "I want to go on with my
+water-wheel." But Mother said, "Don't be selfish, Arthur." And he
+said, "I forgot. All right, Chris; bring me the book." So they went
+and sat in the conservatory, not to disturb anyone. But very soon they
+came back, Chris crying, and saying,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[25]</a></span> "It couldn't be the right one,
+Arthur;" and Arthur frowning, and saying, "It <i>is</i> the right story;
+but it's <i>stuff</i>. I'll tell you what that book's good for, Chris. To
+paint the pictures. And you've got a new paint-box." So Mother said,
+"What's the matter?" And Arthur said, "Chris thinks I haven't read him
+the right story to his Toad Picture. But I have, and what do you think
+it's about? It's about the silliest little girl you can imagine&mdash;a
+regular mawk of a girl&mdash;<i>and a frog</i>. Not a toad, but a F. R. O. G.
+frog! A regular hop, skip, jumping frog!"</p>
+
+<p>Arthur hopped round the room, but Chris cried bitterly. So Arthur ran
+up to him, and kissed him, and said, "Don't cry, old chap. I'll tell
+you what I'll do. You get Mary to cut out a lot of the leaves of your
+book that have no pictures, and that will make it like a real
+scrap-book; and then I'll give you a lot of my scraps and pictures to
+paste over what's left of the stories, and you'll have such a
+painting-book as you never had in all your life before."</p>
+
+<p>So we did. And Arthur was very good, for he gave Chris pictures that I
+know he prized, because Chris liked them. But the very first picture
+he gave him was the "Crane and Water-reeds."</p>
+
+<p>I thought it so good of Arthur to be so nice with Chris that I wished
+I could have helped him over his water-wheel. He had put Japan out of
+his head since the disappointment, and spent all his play-time<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[26]</a></span> in
+making mills and machinery. He did grind some corn into flour once,
+but it was not at all white. He said that was because the bran was
+left in. But it was not only bran in Arthur's flour. There was a good
+deal of sand too, from his millstones being made of sandstone, which
+he thought would not matter. But it grinds off.</p>
+
+<p>Down in the valley, below Mary's Meadow, runs the Ladybrook, which
+turns the old water-wheel of Mary's Mill. It is a very picturesque old
+mill, and Mother has made beautiful sketches of it. She caught the
+last cold she got before going abroad with sketching it&mdash;the day we
+had a most delightful picnic there, and went about in the punt. And
+from that afternoon Arthur made up his mind that his next mill should
+be a water mill.</p>
+
+<p>The reason I am no good at helping Arthur about his mills is that I am
+stupid about machinery; and I was so vexed not to help him, that when
+I saw a book in the library which I thought would do so, I did not
+stop to take it out, for it was in four very large volumes, but ran
+off at once to tell Arthur.</p>
+
+<p>He said, "What is the matter, Mary?"</p>
+
+<p>I said, "Oh, Arthur! I've found a book that will tell you all about
+mills; and it is the nicest smelling book in the Library."</p>
+
+<p>"The nicest <i>smelling</i>? What's that got to do with mills?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[27]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Nothing, of course. But it's bound in russia, and I am so fond of the
+smell of russia. But that's nothing. It's a Miller's Dictionary, and
+it is in four huge volumes, 'with plates.' I should think you could
+look out all about every kind of mill there ever was a miller to."</p>
+
+<p>"If the plates give sections and diagrams"&mdash;Arthur began, but I did
+not hear the rest, for he started off for the library at once, and I
+ran after him.</p>
+
+<p>But when we got Miller's Dictionary on the floor, how he did tease me!
+For there was nothing about mills or millers in it. It was a
+Gardener's and Botanist's Dictionary, by Philip Miller; and the plates
+were plates of flowers, very truly drawn, like the pine tree in Uncle
+Charley's Jap. picture. There were some sections too, but they were
+sections of greenhouses, not of any kinds of mills or machinery.</p>
+
+<p>The odd thing was that it turned out a kind of help to Arthur after
+all. For we got so much interested in it that it roused us up about
+our gardens. We are all very fond of flowers, I most of all. And at
+last Arthur said he thought that miniature mills were really rather
+humbugging things, and it would be much easier and more useful to
+build a cold frame to keep choice auriculas and <i>half-hardies</i> in.</p>
+
+<p>When we took up our gardens so hotly, Harry and Adela took up theirs,
+and we did a great deal, for the weather was fine.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[28]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>We were surprised to find that the Old Squire's Scotch Gardener knew
+Miller's Gardener's Dictionary quite well. He said, "It's a gran'
+wurrk!" (Arthur can say it just like him.)</p>
+
+<p>One day he wished he could see it, and smell the russia binding; he
+said he liked to feel a nice smell. Father was away, and we were by
+ourselves, so we invited him into the library. Saxon wanted to come in
+too, but the gardener was very cross with him, and sent him out; and
+he sat on the mat outside and dribbled with longing to get in, and
+thudded his stiff tail whenever he saw anyone through the doorway.</p>
+
+<p>The Scotch Gardener enjoyed himself very much, and he explained a lot
+of things to Arthur, and helped us to put away the Dictionary when we
+had done with it.</p>
+
+<p>When he took up his hat to go, he gave one long look all round the
+library. Then he turned to Arthur (and Saxon took advantage of this to
+wag his way in and join the party), and said, "It's a rare privilege,
+the free entry of a book chamber like this. I'm hoping, young
+gentleman, that you're not insensible of it?"</p>
+
+<p>Then he caught sight of Saxon, and beat him out of the room with his
+hat.</p>
+
+<p>But he came back himself to say, that it might just happen that he
+would be glad now and again to hear what was said about this or that
+plant (of which he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[29]</a></span> would write down the botanical name) in these
+noble volumes.</p>
+
+<p>So we told him that if he would bring Saxon to see us pretty often, we
+would look out anything he wanted to know about in Miller's Gardener's
+Dictionary.</p>
+
+
+<h3>CHAPTER IV.</h3>
+<p>Looking round the library one day, to see if I could see any more
+books about gardening, I found the Book of Paradise.</p>
+
+<p>It is a very old book, and very queer. It has a brown leather
+back&mdash;not russia&mdash;and stiff little gold flowers and ornaments all the
+way down, where Miller's Dictionary has gold swans in crowns, and
+ornaments.</p>
+
+<p>There are a good many old books in the library, but they are not
+generally very interesting&mdash;at least not to us. So when I found that
+though this one had a Latin name on the title page, it was written in
+English, and that though it seemed to be about Paradise, it was really
+about a garden, and quite common flowers, I was delighted, for I
+always have cared more for gardening and flowers than for any other
+amusement, long before we found Miller's Gardener's Dictionary.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[30]</a></span> And
+the Book of Paradise is much smaller than the dictionary, and easier
+to hold. And I like old, queer things, and it is very old and queer.</p>
+
+<p>The Latin name is, "<i>Paradisi in sole, Paradisus terrestris</i>," which
+we do not any of us understand, though we are all learning Latin; so
+we call it the Book of Paradise. But the English name is&mdash;"Or a Garden
+of all sorts of pleasant flowers which our English ayre will permitt
+to be noursed up;" and on the top of every page is written "The Garden
+of Pleasant Flowers," and it says&mdash;"Collected by John Parkinson,
+Apothecary of London, and the King's Herbarist, 1629."</p>
+
+<p>I had to think a minute to remember who was the king then, and it was
+King Charles I.; so then I knew that it was Queen Henrietta to whom
+the book was dedicated. This was the dedication:&mdash;</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+
+<p class="f1">"<span class="smcap">To the Queen's most Excellent Majesty.</span>"</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Madame</i>,&mdash;Knowing your Majesty so much delighted with all the
+fair flowers of a Garden, and furnished with them as far beyond
+others as you are eminent before them; this my Work of a Garden
+long before this intended to be published, and but now only
+finished, seemed as it were destined to be first offered into
+your Highness's hands as of right, challenging the propriety of
+Patronage from all others. Accept, I beseech your Majesty, this
+speaking<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[31]</a></span> Garden, that may inform you in all the particulars of
+your store as well as wants, when you cannot see any of them
+fresh upon the ground: and it shall further encourage him to
+accomplish the remainder; who in praying that your Highness may
+enjoy the heavenly Paradise, after many years' fruition of this
+earthly, submitteth to be your Majesties,"</p>
+
+<p class="f3">"In all humble devotion,"</p>
+
+<p class="f2">"<span class="smcap">John Parkinson</span>."</p>
+</div>
+
+<p>We like queer old things like this, they are so funny! I liked the
+Dedication, and I wondered if the Queen's Garden really was an Earthly
+Paradise, and whether she did enjoy reading John Parkinson's book
+about flowers in the winter time, when her own flowers were no longer
+"fresh upon the ground." And then I wondered what flowers she had, and
+I looked out a great many of our chief favorites, and she had several
+kinds of them.</p>
+
+<p>We are particularly fond of Daffodils, and she had several kinds of
+Daffodils, from the "Primrose Peerlesse,"<a name="FNanchor_1_1" id="FNanchor_1_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a> "of a sweet but stuffing
+scent," to "the least Daffodil of all,"<a name="FNanchor_2_2" id="FNanchor_2_2"></a><a href="#Footnote_2_2" class="fnanchor">[2]</a> which the book says "was
+brought to us by a Frenchman called Francis le Vean, the honestest
+root-gatherer that ever came over to us."</p>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_1_1" id="Footnote_1_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_1"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> <i>Narcissus media lutens vulgaris.</i></p></div>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_2_2" id="Footnote_2_2"></a><a href="#FNanchor_2_2"><span class="label">[2]</span></a> <i>Narcissus minimus</i>, Parkinson. <i>N. minor</i>, Miller.</p></div>
+
+<p>The Queen had Cowslips too, though our gardener <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[32]</a></span>despised them when he
+saw them in my garden. I dug mine up in Mary's Meadow before Father
+and the Old Squire went to law; but they were only common Cowslips,
+with one Oxlip, by good luck. In the Earthly Paradise there were
+"double Cowslips, one within another." And they were called
+Hose-in-Hose. I wished I had Hose-in-Hose.</p>
+
+<p>Arthur was quite as much delighted with the Book of Paradise as I. He
+said, "Isn't it funny to think of Queen Henrietta Maria gardening. I
+wonder if she went trailing up and down the walks looking like that
+picture of her we saw when you and I were in London with Mother about
+our teeth, and went to see the Loan Collection of Old Masters. I
+wonder if the Dwarf picked the flowers for her. I do wonder what
+Apothecary John Parkinson looked like when he offered his Speaking
+Garden into her Highnesses' hands. And what beautiful hands she had!
+Do you remember the picture, Mary? It was by Vandyke."</p>
+
+<p>I remembered it quite well.</p>
+
+<p>That afternoon the others could not amuse themselves, and wanted me to
+tell them a story. They do not like old stories too often, and it is
+rather difficult to invent new ones. Sometimes we do it by turns. We
+sit in a circle and one of us begins, and the next must add something,
+and so we go on. But that way does not make a good plot. My head was
+so full of the Book of Paradise that afternoon that I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[33]</a></span> could not think
+of a story, but I said I would begin one. So I began:</p>
+
+<p>"Once upon a time there was a Queen&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"How was she dressed?" asked Adela, who thinks a good deal about
+dress.</p>
+
+<p>"She had a beautiful dark-blue satin robe."</p>
+
+<p>"Princesse shape?" inquired Adela.</p>
+
+<p>"No; Queen's shape," said Arthur. "Drive on, Mary."</p>
+
+<p>"And lace ruffles falling back from her Highness' hands&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Sweet!" murmured Adela.</p>
+
+<p>"And a high hat, with plumes, on her head, and&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"A very low dwarf at her heels," added Arthur.</p>
+
+<p>"Was there really a dwarf, Mary?" asked Harry.</p>
+
+<p>"There was," said I.</p>
+
+<p>"Had he a hump, or was he only a plain dwarf?"</p>
+
+<p>"He was a very plain dwarf," said Arthur.</p>
+
+<p>"Does Arthur know the story, Mary?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, Harry, he doesn't; and he oughtn't to interfere till I come to a
+stop."</p>
+
+<p>"Beg pardon, Mary. Drive on."</p>
+
+<p>"The Queen was very much delighted with all fair flowers, and she had
+a garden so full of them that it was called the Earthly Paradise."</p>
+
+<p>There was a long-drawn and general "Oh!" of admiration.</p>
+
+<p>"But though she was a Queen, she couldn't have<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[34]</a></span> flowers in the winter,
+not even in an Earthly Paradise."</p>
+
+<p>"Don't you suppose she had a greenhouse, by-the-bye, Mary?" said
+Arthur.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, Arthur," cried Harry, "I do wish you'd be quiet: when you know
+it's a fairy story, and that Queens of that sort never had greenhouses
+or anything like we have now."</p>
+
+<p>"And so the King's Apothecary and Herbarist, whose name was John
+Parkinson&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"I shouldn't have thought he would have had a common name like that,"
+said Harry.</p>
+
+<p>"Bessy's name is Parkinson," said Adela.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, I can't help it; his name <i>was</i> John Parkinson."</p>
+
+<p>"Drive on, Mary!" said Arthur.</p>
+
+<p>"And he made her a book, called the Book of Paradise, in which there
+were pictures and written accounts of her flowers, so that when she
+could not see any of them fresh upon the ground, she could read about
+them, and think about them, and count up how many she had."</p>
+
+<p>"Ah, but she couldn't tell. Some of them might have died in the
+winter," said Adela.</p>
+
+<p>"Ah, but some of the others might have got little ones at their
+roots," said Harry. "So that would make up."</p>
+
+<p>I said nothing. I was glad of the diversion, for I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[35]</a></span> could not think
+how to go on with the story. Before I quite gave in, Harry luckily
+asked, "Was there a Weeding Woman in the Earthly Paradise?"</p>
+
+<p>"There was," said I.</p>
+
+<p>"How was she dressed?" asked Adela.</p>
+
+<p>"She had a dress the color of common earth."</p>
+
+<p>"Princesse shape?" inquired Arthur.</p>
+
+<p>"No; Weeding Woman shape. Arthur, I wish you wouldn't&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"All right, Mary. Drive on."</p>
+
+<p>"And a little shawl, that had partly the color of grass, and partly
+the color of hay."</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Hay, dear!</i>" interpolated Arthur, exactly imitating a well-known
+sigh peculiar to Bessy's aunt.</p>
+
+<p>"Was her bonnet like our weeding woman's bonnet?" asked Adela, in a
+disappointed tone.</p>
+
+<p>"Much larger," said I, "and the color of a Marigold."</p>
+
+<p>Adela looked happier. "Strings the same?" she asked.</p>
+
+<p>"No. One string canary color, and the other white."</p>
+
+<p>"And a basket?" asked Harry.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, a basket, of course. Well, the Queen had all sorts of flowers in
+her garden. Some of them were natives of the country, and some of them
+were brought to her from countries far away, by men called
+Root-gatherers. There were very beautiful Daffodils<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[36]</a></span> in the Earthly
+Paradise, but the smallest of all the Daffodils&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"A Dwarf, like the Hunchback?" said Harry.</p>
+
+<p>"The Dwarf Daffodil of all was brought to her by a man called Francis
+le Vean."</p>
+
+<p>"That was a <i>much</i> nicer name than John Parkinson," said Harry.</p>
+
+<p>"And he was the honestest Root-gatherer that ever brought foreign
+flowers into the Earthly Paradise."</p>
+
+<p>"Then I love him!" said Harry.</p>
+
+
+<h3>CHAPTER V.</h3>
+<p>One sometimes thinks it is very easy to be good, and then there comes
+something which makes it very hard.</p>
+
+<p>I liked being a Little Mother to the others, and almost enjoyed giving
+way to them. "Others first, Little Mothers afterwards," as we used to
+say&mdash;till the day I made up that story for them out of the Book of
+Paradise.</p>
+
+<p>The idea of it took our fancy completely, the others as well as mine,
+and though the story was constantly interrupted, and never came to any
+real plot or end, there were no Queens, or dwarfs, or characters of
+any<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[37]</a></span> kind in all Bechstein's fairy tales, or even in Grimm, more
+popular than the Queen of the Blue Robe and her Dwarf, and the Honest
+Root-gatherer, and John Parkinson, King's Apothecary and Herbarist,
+and the Weeding Woman of the Earthly Paradise.</p>
+
+<p>When I said, "Wouldn't it be a good new game to have an Earthly
+Paradise in our gardens, and to have a King's Apothecary and Herbarist
+to gather things and make medicine of them, and an honest
+Root-gatherer to divide the polyanthus plants and the bulbs when we
+take them up, and divide them fairly, and a Weeding Woman to work and
+make things tidy, and a Queen in a blue dress, and Saxon for the
+Dwarf"&mdash;the others set up such a shout of approbation that Father sent
+James to inquire if we imagined that he was going to allow his house
+to be turned into a bear-garden.</p>
+
+<p>And Arther said, "No. Tell him we're only turning it into a Speaking
+Garden, and we're going to turn our own gardens into an Earthly
+Paradise."</p>
+
+<p>But I said, "Oh, James! please don't say anything of the kind. Say
+we're very sorry, and we will be quite quiet."</p>
+
+<p>And James said, "Trust me, Miss. It would be a deal more than my place
+is worth to carry Master Arthur's messages to his Pa."</p>
+
+<p>"I'll be the honestest Root-gatherer," said Harry. "I'll take up
+Dandelion roots to the very bottom<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[38]</a></span> and sell them to the King's
+Apothecary to make Dandelion tea of."</p>
+
+<p>"That's a good idea of yours, Harry," said Arthur, "I shall be John
+Parkinson&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"<i>My</i> name is Francis le Vean," said Harry.</p>
+
+<p>"King's Apothecary and Herbarist," continued Arthur disdaining the
+interruption. "And I'll bet you my Cloth of Gold Pansy to your Black
+Prince that Bessy's aunt takes three bottles of my dandelion and
+chamomile mixture for 'the swimmings,' bathes her eyes every morning
+with my elder flower lotion to strengthen the sight, and sleeps every
+night on my herb pillow (if Mary'll make me a flannel bag) before the
+week's out."</p>
+
+<p>"I could make you a flannel bag," said Adela, "if Mary will make me a
+bonnet, so that I can be the Weeding Woman. You could make it of
+tissue paper, with stiff paper inside, like all those caps you made
+for us last Christmas, Mary, dear, couldn't you? And there is some
+lovely orange-colored paper, I know, and pale yellow, and white. The
+bonnet was Marygold-color, was it not? And one string canary-colored
+and one white. I couldn't tie them, of course, being paper; but
+Bessy's aunt doesn't tie her bonnet. She wears it like a helmet, to
+shade her eyes. I shall wear mine so, too. It will be all Marygold,
+won't it dear? Front <i>and</i> crown; and the white string going back over
+one shoulder, and the canary<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[39]</a></span> string over the other. They might be
+pinned together behind, perhaps, if they were in my way. Don't you
+think so?"</p>
+
+<p>I said "Yes," because if one does not say something, Adela never stops
+saying whatever it is she is saying, even if she has to say it two or
+three times over.</p>
+
+<p>But I felt so cross and so selfish, that if Mother <i>could</i> have known
+she <i>would</i> have despised me!</p>
+
+<p>For the truth was, I had set my heart upon being the Weeding Woman. I
+thought Adela would want to be the Queen, because of the blue dress,
+and the plumed hat, and the lace ruffles. Besides, she likes picking
+flowers, but she never liked grubbing. She would not really like the
+Weeding Woman's work; it was the bonnet that had caught her fancy, and
+I found it hard to smother the vexing thought that if I had gone on
+dressing the Weeding Woman of the Earthly Paradise like Bessy's aunt,
+instead of trying to make the story more interesting by inventing a
+marygold bonnet with yellow and white strings for her, I might have
+had the part I wished to play in our new game (which certainly was of
+my devising), and Adela would have been better pleased to be the Queen
+than to be anything else.</p>
+
+<p>As it was, I knew that if I asked her she would give up the Weeding
+Woman. Adela is very good, and she is very good-natured. And I knew,
+too, that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[40]</a></span> it would not have cost her much. She would have given a
+sigh about the bonnet, and then have turned her whole attention to a
+blue robe, and how to manage the ruffles.</p>
+
+<p>But even whilst I was thinking about it, Arthur said: "Of course, Mary
+must be the Queen, unless we could think of something else&mdash;very
+good&mdash;for her. If we could have thought of something, Mary, I was
+thinking how jolly it would be, when Mother comes home, to have had
+<i>her</i> for the Queen, with Chris for her Dwarf, and to give her flowers
+out of our Earthly Paradise."</p>
+
+<p>"She would look just like a Queen," said Harry.</p>
+
+<p>"In her navy blue nun's cloth and Russian lace," said Adela.</p>
+
+<p>That settled the question. Nothing could be so nice as to have Mother
+in the game, and the plan provided for Christopher also. I had no wish
+to be Queen, as far as that went. Dressing up, and walking about the
+garden would be no fun for me. I really had looked forward to clearing
+away big baskets full of weeds and rubbish, and keeping our five
+gardens and the paths between them so tidy as they had never been kept
+before. And I knew the weeds would have a fine time of it with Adela,
+as Weeding Woman, in a tissue paper bonnet!</p>
+
+<p>But one thing was more important than tidy gardens&mdash;not to be
+selfish.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[41]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>I had been left as Little Mother to the others, and I had been lucky
+enough to think of a game that pleased them. If I turned selfish now,
+it would spoil everything.</p>
+
+<p>So I said that Arthur's idea was excellent; that I had no wish to be
+Queen, that I thought I might, perhaps, devise another character for
+myself by-and-by; and that if the others would leave me alone, I would
+think about it whilst I was making Adela's bonnet.</p>
+
+<p>The others were quite satisfied. Father says people always are
+satisfied with things in general, when they've got what they want for
+themselves, and I think that is true.</p>
+
+<p>I got the tissue paper and the gum; resisted Adela's extreme desire to
+be with me and talk about the bonnet, and shut myself up in the
+library.</p>
+
+<p>I got out the <i>Book of Paradise</i> too, and propped it up in an
+armchair, and sat on a footstool in front of it, so that I could read
+in between whiles of making the bonnet. There is an index, so that you
+can look out the flowers you want to read about. It was no use our
+looking out flowers, except common ones, such as Harry would be
+allowed to get bits of out of the big garden to plant in our little
+gardens, when he became our Honest Root-gatherer.</p>
+
+<p>I looked at the Cowslips again. I am very fond of them, and so they
+say, are nightingales; which is,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[42]</a></span> perhaps, why that nightingale we
+know lives in Mary's Meadow, for it is full of cowslips.</p>
+
+<p>The Queen had a great many kinds, and there are pictures of most of
+them. She had the Common Field Cowslip, the Primrose Cowslip, the
+Single Green Cowslip, Curled Cowslips, or Galligaskins, Double
+Cowslips, or Hose-in-Hose, and the Franticke or Foolish Cowslip, or
+Jackanapes on Horsebacke.</p>
+
+<p>I did not know any of them except the Common Cowslip, but I remembered
+that Bessy's aunt once told me that she had a double cowslip. It was
+the day I was planting common ones in my garden, when our gardener
+despised them. Bessy's aunt despised them too, and she said the double
+ones were only fit for a cottage garden. I laughed so much that I tore
+the canary-colored string as I was gumming it on to the bonnet, to
+think how I could tell her now that cowslips are Queen's flowers, the
+common ones as well as the Hose-in-Hose.</p>
+
+<p>Then I looked out the Honeysuckle, it was page 404, and there were no
+pictures. I began at the beginning of the chapter; this was it, and it
+was as funnily spelt as the preface, but I could read it.</p>
+
+<p>"Chap. cv. <i>Periclymemum</i>. Honeysuckles.</p>
+
+<p>"The Honisucle that groweth wilde in euery hedge, although it be very
+sweete, yet doe I not bring it into my garden, but let it rest in his
+owne place, to serue their senses that trauell by it, or haue no
+garden."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[43]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>I had got so far when James came in. He said&mdash;"Letters, Miss."</p>
+
+<p>It was the second post, and there was a letter for me, and a book
+parcel; both from Mother.</p>
+
+<p>Mother's letters are always delightful; and, like things she says,
+they often seem to come in answer to something you have been thinking
+about, and which you would never imagine she could know, unless she
+was a witch. This was <i>the knowing bit</i> in that letter:&mdash;"<i>Your dear
+father's note this morning did me more good than bottles of tonic. It
+is due to you, my trustworthy little daughter, to tell you of the bit
+that pleased me most. He says&mdash;'The children seem to me to be behaving
+unusually well, and I must say, I believe the credit belongs to Mary.
+She seems to have a genius for keeping them amused, which luckily
+means keeping them out of mischief.' Now, good Little Mother, I wonder
+how you yourself are being entertained? I hope the others are not
+presuming on your unselfishness? Anyhow, I send you a book for your
+own amusement when they leave you a bit of peace and quiet. I have
+long been fond of it in French, and I have found an English
+translation with nice little pictures, and send it to you. I know you
+will enjoy it, because you are so fond of flowers.</i>"</p>
+
+<p>Oh, how glad I was that I had let Adela be the Weeding Woman with a
+good grace, and could open my book parcel with a clear conscience!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[44]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>I put the old book away and buried myself in the new one.</p>
+
+<p>I never had a nicer. It was called "A Tour Round my Garden," and some
+of the little stones in it&mdash;like the Tulip Rebecca, and the
+Discomfited Florists&mdash;were very amusing indeed; and some were sad and
+pretty, like the Yellow Roses; and there were delicious bits, like the
+Enriched Woodman and the Connoisseur Deceived; but there was no
+"stuff" in it at all.</p>
+
+<p>Some chapters were duller than others, and at last I got into a very
+dull one, about the vine, and it had a good deal of Greek in it, and
+we have not begun Greek.</p>
+
+<p>But after the Greek, and the part about Bacchus and Anacreon (I did
+not care about <i>them</i>; they were not in the least like the Discomfited
+Florists, or the Enriched Woodman!) there came this, and I liked it
+the best of all:&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"At the extremity of my garden the vine extends in long porticos,
+through the arcades of which may be seen trees of all sorts, and
+foliage of all colors. There is an <i>azerolier</i> (a small medlar) which
+is covered in autumn with little apples, producing the richest effect.
+I have given away several grafts of this; far from deriving pleasure
+from the privation of others, I do my utmost to spread and render
+common and vulgar all the trees and plants that I prefer; it is<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[45]</a></span> as if
+I multiplied the pleasure and the chances of beholding them of all
+who, like me, really love flowers for their splendor, their grace, and
+their perfume. Those who, on the contrary, are jealous of their
+plants, and only esteem them in proportion with their conviction that
+no one else possesses them, do not love flowers; and be assured that
+it is either chance or poverty which has made them collectors of
+flowers, instead of being collectors of pictures, cameos, medals, or
+any other thing that might serve as an excuse for indulging in all the
+joys of possession, seasoned with the idea that others do not possess.</p>
+
+<p>"I have even carried the vulgarisation of beautiful flowers farther
+than this.</p>
+
+<p>"I ramble about the country near my dwelling, and seek the widest and
+least frequented spots. In these, after clearing and preparing a few
+inches of ground, I scatter the seeds of my most favorite plants,
+which re-sow themselves, perpetuate themselves, and multiply
+themselves. At this moment, whilst the fields display nothing but the
+common red poppy, strollers find with surprise in certain wild nooks
+of our country, the most beautiful double poppies, with their white,
+red, pink, carnation, and variegated blossoms.</p>
+
+<p>"At the foot of an isolated tree, instead of the little bindweed with
+its white flower, may sometimes be found the beautifully climbing
+convolvulus major, of all the lovely colors that can be imagined.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[46]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Sweet peas fasten their tendrils to the bushes, and cover them with
+the deliciously-scented white, rose-color, or white and violet
+butterflies."</p>
+
+<p>"It affords me immense pleasure to fix upon a wild-rose in the hedge,
+and graft upon it red and white cultivated roses, sometimes single
+roses of a magnificent golden yellow, then large Provence roses, or
+others variegated with red and white."</p>
+
+<p>"The rivulets in our neighborhood do not produce on their banks these
+forget-me-nots, with their blue flowers, with which the rivulet of my
+garden is adorned; I mean to save the seed, and scatter it in my
+walks."</p>
+
+<p>"I have observed two young wild quince trees in the nearest wood; next
+spring I will engraft upon them two of the best kinds of pears."</p>
+
+<p>"And then, how I enjoy beforehand and in imagination, the pleasure and
+surprise which the solitary stroller will experience when he meets in
+his rambles with those beautiful flowers and these delicious fruits!"</p>
+
+<p>"This fancy of mine may, one day or another, cause some learned
+botanist who is herborising in these parts a hundred years hence, to
+print a stupid and startling system. All these beautiful flowers will
+have become common in the country, and will give it an aspect peculiar
+to itself; and, perhaps, chance or the wind will cast a few of the
+seeds or some of them amidst the grass which shall cover my forgotten
+grave!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[47]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>This was the end of the chapter, and then there was a vignette, a very
+pretty one, of a cross-marked, grass-bound grave.</p>
+
+<p>Some books, generally grown-up ones, put things into your head with a
+sort of rush, and now it suddenly rushed into mine&mdash;"<i>That's what I'll
+be!</i> I can think of a name hereafter&mdash;but that's what I'll do. I'll
+take seeds and cuttings, and off-shoots from our garden, and set them
+in waste-places, and hedges, and fields, and I'll make an Earthly
+Paradise of Mary's Meadow."</p>
+
+
+<h3>CHAPTER VI.</h3>
+<p>The only difficulty about my part was to find a name for it. I might
+have taken the name of the man who wrote the book&mdash;it is Alphonse
+Karr,&mdash;just as Arthur was going to be called John Parkinson. But I am
+a girl, so it seemed silly to take a man's name. And I wanted some
+kind of title, too, like King's Apothecary and Herbarist, or Weeding
+Woman, and Alphonse Karr does not seem to have had any by-name of that
+sort.</p>
+
+<p>I had put Adela's bonnet on my head to carry it safely, and was still
+sitting thinking, when the others burst into the library.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[48]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Arthur was first, waving a sheet of paper; but when Adela saw the
+bonnet, she caught hold of his arm and pushed forward.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, it's sweet! Mary, dear, you're an angel. You couldn't be better
+if you were a real milliner and lived in Paris. I'm sure you
+couldn't."</p>
+
+<p>"Mary," said Arthur, "remove that bonnet, which by no means becomes
+you, and let Adela take it into a corner and gibber over it to
+herself. I want you to hear this."</p>
+
+<p>"You generally do want the platform," I said, laughing. "Adela, I am
+very glad you like it. To-morrow, if I can find a bit of pink
+tissue-paper, I think I could gum on little pleats round the edge of
+the strings as a finish."</p>
+
+<p>I did not mind how gaudily I dressed the part of Weeding Woman now.</p>
+
+<p>"You are good. Mary. It will make it simply perfect; and, kilts don't
+you think? Not box pleats?"</p>
+
+<p>Arthur groaned.</p>
+
+<p>"You shall have which you like, dear. Now, Arthur, what is it?"</p>
+
+<p>Arthur shook out his paper, gave it a flap with the back of his hand,
+as you do with letters when you are acting, and said&mdash;"It's to Mother,
+and when she gets it, she'll be a good deal astonished, I fancy."</p>
+
+<p>When I had heard the letter, I thought so, too.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[49]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+<p class="f1">"<span class="smcap">To the Queen's Most Excellent Maiestie</span>&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"<i>My dear Mother</i>,&mdash;This is to tell you that we have made you
+Queen of the Blue Robe, and that your son Christopher is a dwarf,
+and we think you'll both be very much pleased when you hear it.
+He can do as he likes about having a hump back. When you come
+home we shall give faire flowers into your Highnesse hands&mdash;that
+is if you'll do what I'm going to ask you, for nobody can grow
+flowers out of nothing. I want you to write to John&mdash;write
+straight to him, don't put it in your letter to Father&mdash;and tell
+him that you have given us leave to have some of the seedlings
+out of the frames, and that he's to dig us up a good big clump of
+daffodils out of the shrubbery&mdash;and we'll divide them fairly, for
+Harry is the Honestest Root-gatherer that ever came over to us.
+We have turned the whole of our gardens into a <i>Paradisi in sole
+Paradisus terrestris</i>, if you can construe that; but we must have
+something to make a start. He's got no end of bedding things
+over&mdash;that are doing nothing in the Kitchen Garden and might just
+as well be in our Earthly Paradise. And please tell him to keep
+us a tiny pinch of seed at the bottom of every paper when he is
+sowing the annuals. A little goes a long way, particularly of
+poppies. And you might give him a hint to let us have a
+flower-pot or two now and then (I'm sure he takes ours if he
+finds any of our dead window plants lying about), and that he
+needn't be<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[50]</a></span> so mighty mean about the good earth in the potting
+shed, or the labels either, they're dirt cheap. Mind you write
+straight. If only you let John know that the gardens don't
+entirely belong to him, you'll see that what's spare from the big
+garden would more than set us going; and it shall further
+encourage him to accomplish the remainder, who in praying that
+your Highnesse may enjoy the heavenly Paradise after the many
+years fruition of this earthly,</p>
+
+<p class="f1">"Submitteth to be, Your Maiestie's, in all humble devotion,</p>
+
+<p class="f4"><span class="smcap">John Parkinson</span>,</p>
+
+<p class="f3">"King's Apothecary and Herbalist.</p>
+
+<p class="f1">"P. S.&mdash;It was Mary's idea."</p>
+</div>
+
+<p>"My <i>dear</i> Arthur!" said I.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, I know it's not very well mixed," said Arthur. "Not half so
+well as I intended at first. I meant to write it all in the Parkinson
+style. But then, I thought, if I put the part about John in queer
+language and old spelling, she mightn't understand what we want. But
+every word of the end comes out of the Dedication; I copied it the
+other day, and I think she'll find it a puzzlewig when she comes to
+it."</p>
+
+<p>After which Arthur folded his paper and put it into an envelope which
+he licked copiously, and closed the letter with a great deal of
+display. But then his industry coming to an abrupt end, as it often
+did, he tossed it to me saying, "You can address it, Mary;"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[51]</a></span> so I
+enclosed it in my own letter to thank Mother for the book, and I fancy
+she did write to our gardener, for he gave us a good lot of things,
+and was much more good-natured than usual.</p>
+
+<p>After Arthur had tossed his letter to me, he clasped his hands over
+his head and walked up and down thinking. I thought he was calculating
+what he should be able to get out of John, for when you are planning
+about a garden, you seem to have to do so much calculating. Suddenly
+he stopped in front of me and threw down his arms. "Mary," he said,
+"if Mother were at home, she <i>would</i> despise us for selfishness,
+wouldn't she just?"</p>
+
+<p>"I don't think it's selfish to want spare things for our gardens, if
+she gives us leave," said I.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm not thinking of that," said Arthur; "and you're not selfish, you
+never are; but she would despise me, and Adela, and Harry, because
+we've taken your game, and got our parts, and you've made that
+preposterous bonnet for Adela to be the Weeding Woman in&mdash;&mdash;much
+she'll weed!&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"I <i>shall</i> weed," said Adela.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, yes! You'll weed,&mdash;Groundsel!&mdash;and leave Mary to get up the docks
+and dandelions, and clear away the heap. But, never mind. Here we've
+taken Mary's game, and she hasn't even got a part."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," said I, "I have; I have got a capital part. I have only to
+think of a name."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[52]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"How shall you be dressed?" asked Adela.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know yet," said I. "I have only just thought of the part."</p>
+
+<p>"Are you sure it's a good-enough one?" asked Harry, with a grave and
+remorseful air; "because, if not, you must take Francis le Vean. Girls
+are called Frances sometimes."</p>
+
+<p>I explained, and I read aloud the bit that had struck my fancy.</p>
+
+<p>Arthur got restless half-way through, and took out the Book of
+Paradise. His letter was on his mind. But Adela was truly delighted.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, Mary," she said, "it is lovely. And it just suits you. It suits
+you much better than being a Queen."</p>
+
+<p>"Much better," said I.</p>
+
+<p>"You'll be exactly the reverse of me," said Harry. "When I'm digging
+up, you'll be putting in."</p>
+
+<p>"Mary," said Arthur, from the corner where he was sitting with the
+Book of Paradise in his lap, "what have you put a mark in the place
+about honeysuckle for?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, only because I was just reading there when James brought the
+letters."</p>
+
+<p>"John Parkinson can't have been quite so nice a man as Alphonse Karr,"
+said Adela; "not so unselfish. He took care of the Queen's Gardens,
+but he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[53]</a></span> didn't think of making the lanes and hedges nice for poor
+wayfarers."</p>
+
+<p>I was in the rocking-chair, and I rocked harder to shake up something
+that was coming into my head. Then I remembered.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, Adela, he did&mdash;a little. He wouldn't root up the honeysuckle out
+of the hedges (and I suppose he wouldn't let his root-gatherers grub
+it up, either); he didn't put it in the Queen's Gardens, but left it
+wild outside&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"To serve their senses that travel by it, or have no garden,"
+interrupted Arthur, reading from the book, "and, oh, Mary! that
+reminds me&mdash;<i>travel</i>&mdash;<i>travellers</i>. I've got a name for your part just
+coming into my head. But it dodges out again like a wire worm through
+a three pronged fork. <i>Travel</i>&mdash;<i>traveler</i>&mdash;<i>travelers</i>&mdash;what's the
+common name for the&mdash;oh, dear! the what's his name that scrambles
+about in the hedges. A flower&mdash;you know?"</p>
+
+<p>"Deadly Nightshade?" said Harry.</p>
+
+<p>"Deadly fiddlestick!&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Bryony?" I suggested.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, no; it begins with C."</p>
+
+<p>"Clematis?" said Adela.</p>
+
+<p>"Clematis. Right you are, Adela. And the common name for Clematis is
+Traveller's Joy. And that's the name for you, Mary, because you're
+going<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[54]</a></span> to serve their senses that travel by hedges and ditches and
+perhaps have no garden."</p>
+
+<p>"Traveller's Joy," said Harry. "Hooray!"</p>
+
+<p>"Hooray!" said Adela, and she waved the Weeding Woman's bonnet.</p>
+
+<p>It was a charming name, but it was too good for me, and I said so.</p>
+
+<p>Arthur jumped on the rockers, and rocked me to stop my talking. When I
+was far back, he took the point of my chin in his two hands and lifted
+up my cheeks to be kissed, saying in his very kindest way, "It's not a
+bit too good for you&mdash;it's you all over."</p>
+
+<p>Then he jumped off as suddenly as he had jumped on, and as I went back
+with a bounce he cried, "Oh, Mary! give me back that letter. I must
+put another postscript and another puzzlewig. P.P.S.&mdash;Excellent
+Majesty: Mary will still be our Little Mother on all common occasions,
+as you wished, but in the Earthly Paradise we call her Traveller's
+Joy."</p>
+
+
+<h3>CHAPTER VII.</h3>
+<p>There are two or three reasons why the part of Traveller's Joy suited
+me very well. In the first place it required a good deal of trouble,
+and I like taking trouble. Then John was willing to let me do<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[55]</a></span> many
+things he would not have allowed the others to do, because he could
+trust me to be careful and to mind what he said.</p>
+
+<p>On each side of the long walk in the kitchen garden there are flowers
+between you and the vegetables, herbaceous borders, with nice big
+clumps of things that have suckers, and off-shoots and seedlings at
+their feet.</p>
+
+<p>"The Long Walk's the place to steal from if I wasn't an <i>honest</i>
+Root-gatherer," said Harry.</p>
+
+<p>John had lovely poppies there that summer. When I read about the
+poppies Alphonse Karr sowed in the wild nooks of his native country,
+it made me think of John's French poppies, and p&aelig;ony poppies, and
+ranunculus poppies, and carnation poppies, some very large, some quite
+small, some round and neat, some full and ragged like Japanese
+chrysanthemums, but all of such beautiful shades of red, rose,
+crimson, pink, pale blush, and white, that if they had but smelt like
+carnations instead of smelling like laudanum when you have the
+toothache, they would have been quite perfect.</p>
+
+<p>In one way they are nicer than carnations. They have such lots of
+seed, and it is so easy to get. I asked John to let me have some of
+the heads. He could not possibly want them all, for each head has
+enough in it to sow two or three yards of a border. He said I might
+have what seeds I liked, if I used<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[56]</a></span> scissors, and did not drag things
+out of the ground by pulling. But I was not to let the young gentlemen
+go seed gathering. "Boys be so destructive," John said.</p>
+
+<p>After a time, however, I persuaded him to let Harry transplant
+seedlings of the things that sow themselves and come up in the autumn,
+if they came up a certain distance from the parent plants. Harry got a
+lot of things for our Paradise in this way; indeed he would not have
+got much otherwise, except wild flowers; and, as he said, "How can I
+be your Honest Root-gatherer if I mayn't gather anything up by the
+roots?"</p>
+
+<p>I can't help laughing sometimes to think of the morning when he left
+off being our Honest Root-gatherer. He did look so funny, and so like
+Chris.</p>
+
+<p>A day or two before, the Scotch Gardener had brought Saxon to see us,
+and a new kind of mouldiness that had got into his grape vines to show
+to John.</p>
+
+<p>He was very cross with Saxon for walking on my garden. (And I am sure
+I quite forgave him, for I am so fond of him, and he knew no better,
+poor dear!) But though he kicked Saxon, the Scotch Gardener was kind
+to us. He told us that the reason our gardens do not do so well as the
+big garden, and that my <i>Jules Margottin</i> has not such big roses as
+John's <i>Jules Margottin</i> is because we have never renewed the soil.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[57]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Arthur and Harry got very much excited about this. They made the
+Scotch Gardener tell them what good soil ought to be made of, and all
+the rest of the day they talked of nothing but <i>compost</i>. Indeed
+Arthur would come into my room and talk about compost after I had gone
+to bed.</p>
+
+<p>Father's farming man was always much more good-natured to us than John
+ever was. He would give us anything we wanted. Warm milk when the cows
+were milked, or sweet-pea sticks, or bran to stuff the dolls' pillows.
+I've known him take his hedging bill, in his dinner hour, and cut fuel
+for our beacon-fire, when we were playing at a French Invasion.
+Nothing could be kinder.</p>
+
+<p>Perhaps we do not tease him so much as we tease John. But when I say
+that, Arthur says, "Now, Mary, that's just how you explain away
+things. The real difference between John and Michael is, that Michael
+is good-natured and John is not. Catch John showing me the duck's nest
+by the pond, or letting you into the cow-house to kiss the new calf
+between the eyes&mdash;if he were farm man instead of gardener!"</p>
+
+<p>And the night Arthur sat in my room, talking about compost, he said,
+"I shall get some good stuff out of Michael, I know; and Harry and I
+see our way to road scrapings if we can't get sand; and we mean to
+take precious good care John doesn't have<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[58]</a></span> all the old leaves to
+himself. It's the top spit that puzzles us, and loam is the most
+important thing of all."</p>
+
+<p>"What is top spit?" I asked.</p>
+
+<p>"It's the earth you get when you dig up squares of grass out of a
+field like the paddock. The new earth that's just underneath. I expect
+John got a lot when he turfed that new piece by the pond, but I don't
+believe he'd spare us a flower-pot full to save his life."</p>
+
+<p>"Don't quarrel with John, Arthur. It's no good."</p>
+
+<p>"I won't quarrel with him if he behaves himself," said Arthur, "but we
+mean to have some top spit, somehow."</p>
+
+<p>"If you aggravate him he'll only complain of us to Father."</p>
+
+<p>"I know," said Arthur hotly, "and beastly mean of him, too, when he
+knows what Father is about this sort of thing."</p>
+
+<p>"I know it's mean. But what's the good of fighting when you'll only
+get the worst of it?"</p>
+
+<p>"Why to show that you're in the right, and that you know you are,"
+said Arthur. "Good night, Mary. We'll have a compost heap of our own
+this autumn, mark my words."</p>
+
+<p>Next day, in spite of my remonstrances, Arthur and Harry came to open
+war with John, and loudly<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[59]</a></span> and long did they rehearse their
+grievances, when we were out of Father's hearing.</p>
+
+<p>"Have we ever swept our own walks, except that once, long ago, when
+the German women came round with threepenny brooms?" asked Arthur,
+throwing out his right arm, as if he were making a speech. "And think
+of all the years John has been getting leaf mould for himself out of
+our copper beech leaves and now refuses us a barrow load of loam!"</p>
+
+<p>The next morning but one Harry was late for breakfast, and then it
+seemed that he was not dressing; he had gone out,&mdash;very early, one of
+the servants said. It frightened me, and I went out to look for him.</p>
+
+<p>When I came upon him in our gardens, it was he who was frightened.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, dear," he exclaimed, "I thought you were John."</p>
+
+<p>I have often seen Harry dirty&mdash;very dirty,&mdash;but from the mud on his
+boots to the marks on his face where he had pushed the hair out of his
+eyes with earthy fingers, I never saw him quite so grubby before. And
+if there had been a clean place left in any part of his clothes well
+away from the ground, that spot must have been soiled by a huge and
+very dirty sack, under the weight of which his poor little shoulders
+were bent nearly to his knees.</p>
+
+<p>"What are you doing, Honest Root-gatherer?" I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[60]</a></span> asked; "are you turning
+yourself into a hump-backed dwarf?"</p>
+
+<p>"I'm not honest, and I'm not a root-gatherer just now," said Harry,
+when he had got breath after setting down his load. He spoke shyly and
+a little surlily like Chris when he is in mischief.</p>
+
+<p>"Harry, what's that?"</p>
+
+<p>"It's a sack I borrowed from Michael. It won't hurt it, it's had
+mangel-wurzels in already."</p>
+
+<p>"What have you got in it now? It looks dreadfully heavy."</p>
+
+<p>"It <i>is</i> heavy, I can tell you," said Harry, with one more rub of his
+dirty fingers over his face.</p>
+
+<p>"You look half dead. What is it?"</p>
+
+<p>"It's top spit;" and Harry began to discharge his load on to the walk.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, Harry, where did you get it?"</p>
+
+<p>"Out of the paddock. I've been digging up turfs and getting this out,
+and putting the turfs back, and stamping them down not to show, ever
+since six o'clock. It <i>was</i> hard work; and I was so afraid of John
+coming. Mary, you won't tell tales?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, Harry. But I don't think you ought to have taken it without
+Mother's leave."</p>
+
+<p>"I don't think you can call it stealing," said Harry. "Fields are a
+kind of wild places anyhow, and the paddock belongs to Father, and it
+certainly doesn't belong to John."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[61]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"No," said I, doubtfully.</p>
+
+<p>"I won't get any more; it's dreadfully hard work," said Harry, but as
+he shook the sack out and folded it up, he added (in rather a
+satisfied tone), "I've got a good deal."</p>
+
+<p>I helped him to wash himself for breakfast, and half way through he
+suddenly smiled and said, "John Parkinson will be glad when he sees
+<i>you-know-what</i>, Mary, whatever the other John thinks of it."</p>
+
+<p>But Harry did not cut any more turfs without leave, for he told me
+that he had a horrid dream that night of waking up in prison with a
+warder looking at him through a hole in the door of his cell, and
+finding out that he was in penal servitude for stealing top spit from
+the bottom of the paddock, and Father would not take him out of
+prison, and that Mother did not know about it.</p>
+
+<p>However, he and Arthur made a lot of compost. They said we couldn't
+possibly have a Paradise without it.</p>
+
+<p>It made them very impatient. We always want the spring and summer and
+autumn and winter to get along faster than they do. But this year
+Arthur and Harry were very impatient with summer.</p>
+
+<p>They were nearly caught one day by Father coming home just as they had
+got through the gates with Michael's old sack full of road-scrapings,
+instead of sand (we have not any sand growing near us, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[62]</a></span> silver
+sand is rather dear), but we did get leaves together and stacked them
+to rot into leaf mould.</p>
+
+<p>Leaf mould is splendid stuff, but it takes a long time for the leaves
+to get mouldy, and it takes a great many, too. Arthur is rather
+impatient, and he used to say&mdash;"I never saw leaves stick on to
+branches in such a way. I mean to get into some of these old trees and
+give them a good shaking to remind them what time of year it is. If I
+don't we shan't have anything like enough leaves for our compost."</p>
+
+
+<h3>CHAPTER VIII.</h3>
+<p>Mother was very much surprised by Arthur's letter, but not so much
+puzzled as he expected. She knew Parkinson's <i>Paradisus</i> quite well,
+and only wrote to me to ask; "What are the boys after with the old
+books? Does your Father know?"</p>
+
+<p>But when I told her that he had given us leave to be in the library,
+and that we took great care of the books, and how much we enjoyed the
+ones about gardening, and all that we were going to do, she was very
+kind indeed, and promised to put on a blue dress and lace ruffles and
+be Queen of our Earthly Paradise as soon as she came home.</p>
+
+<p>When she did come home she was much better,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[63]</a></span> and so was Chris. He was
+delighted to be our Dwarf, but he wanted to have a hump, and he would
+have such a big one that it would not keep in its place, and kept
+slipping under his arm and into all sorts of queer positions.</p>
+
+<p>Not one of us enjoyed our new game more than Chris did, and he was
+always teasing me to tell him the story I had told the others, and to
+read out the names of the flowers which "the real Queen" had in her
+"real paradise." He made Mother promise to try to get him a bulb of
+the real Dwarf Daffodil as his next birthday present, to put in his
+own garden.</p>
+
+<p>"And I'll give you some compost," said Arthur. "It'll be ever so much
+better than a stupid book with 'stuff' in it."</p>
+
+<p>Chris did seem much stronger. He had color in his cheeks, and his head
+did not look so large. But he seemed to puzzle over things in it as
+much as ever, and he was just as odd and quaint.</p>
+
+<p>One warm day I had taken the "Tour round my Garden," and was sitting
+near the bush in the little wood behind our house, when Chris came
+after me with a Japanese fan in his hand, and sat down cross-legged at
+my feet. As I was reading, and Mother has taught us not to interrupt
+people when they are reading, he said nothing, but there he sat.</p>
+
+<p>"What is it Chris?" said I.</p>
+
+<p>"I am discontented," said Chris.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[64]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"I'm very sorry," said I.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't think I'm selfish, particularly, but I'm discontented."</p>
+
+<p>"What about?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, Mary, I do wish I had not been away when you invented Paradise,
+then I should have had a name in the game."</p>
+
+<p>"You've got a name, Chris. You're the Dwarf."</p>
+
+<p>"Ah, but what was the Dwarf's name?"</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know," I admitted.</p>
+
+<p>"No; that's just it. I've only one name, and Arthur and Harry have
+two. Arthur is a Pothecary" (Chris could never be induced to accept
+Apothecary as one word), "and he's John Parkinson as well. Harry is
+Honest Root-gatherer, and he is Francis le Vean. If I'd not been away
+I should have had two names."</p>
+
+<p>"You can easily have two names," said I. "We'll call the Dwarf Thomas
+Brown."</p>
+
+<p>Chris shook his big head.</p>
+
+<p>"No, no. That wasn't his name; I know it wasn't. It's only stuff. I
+want another name out of the old book."</p>
+
+<p>I dared not tell him that the dwarf was not in the old book. I said:</p>
+
+<p>"My dear Chris, you really are discontented; we can't all have double
+names. Adela has only one name, she is Weeding Woman and nothing else;
+and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[65]</a></span> I have only one name, I'm Traveller's Joy, and that's all."</p>
+
+<p>"But you and Adela are girls," said Chris complacently. "The boys have
+two names."</p>
+
+<p>I suppressed some resentment, for Christopher's eyes were beginning to
+look weary, and said:</p>
+
+<p>"Shall I read to you for a bit?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, don't read. Tell me things out of the old book. Tell me about the
+Queen's flowers. Don't tell me about daffodils, they make me think
+what a long way off my birthday is, and I'm quite discontented
+enough."</p>
+
+<p>And Chris sighed, and lay down on the grass, with one arm under his
+head, and his fan in his hand; and, as well as I could remember, I
+told him all about the different varieties of Cowslips, down to the
+Franticke, or Foolish Cowslip, and he became quite happy.</p>
+
+<p>Dear Father is rather short sighted, but he can hold a round glass in
+his eye without cutting himself. It was the other eye which was next
+to Chris at prayers the following morning; but he saw his legs, and
+the servants had hardly got out of the hall before he shouted "Pull up
+your stockings, Chris!"&mdash;and then to Mother, "Why do you keep that
+sloven of a girl Bessy, if she can't dress the children decently? But
+I can't conceive what made you put that child into knickerbockers, he
+can't keep his stockings up."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[66]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Yes I can," said Christopher, calmly, looking at his legs.</p>
+
+<p>"Then what have you got 'em down for?" shouted Father.</p>
+
+<p>"They're not all down," said Chris, his head still bent over his
+knees, till I began to fear he would have a fit.</p>
+
+<p>"One of 'em is, anyhow. I saw it at prayers. Pull it up."</p>
+
+<p>"Two of them are," said Christopher, never lifting his admiring gaze
+from his stockings. "Two of them are down, and two of them are up,
+quite up, quite tidy."</p>
+
+<p>Dear Father rubbed his glass and put it back into his eye.</p>
+
+<p>"Why, how many stockings have you got on?"</p>
+
+<p>"Four," said Chris, smiling serenely at his legs; "and it isn't
+Bessy's fault. I put 'em all on myself, everyone of them."</p>
+
+<p>At this minute James brought in the papers, and Father only laughed,
+and said, "I never saw such a chap," and began to read. He is very
+fond of Christopher, and Chris is never afraid of him.</p>
+
+<p>I was going out of the room, and Chris followed me into the hall, and
+drew my attention to his legs, which were clothed in four stockings;
+one pair, as he said, being drawn tidily up over his knees, the other
+pair turned down with some neatness in folds a little above his
+ankles.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[67]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Mary," he said, "I'm contented now."</p>
+
+<p>"I'm very glad, Chris. But do leave off staring at your legs. All the
+blood will run into your head."</p>
+
+<p>"I wish things wouldn't always get into <i>my</i> head, and nobody else's,"
+said Chris, peevishly, as he raised it; but when he looked back at his
+stockings, they seemed to comfort him again.</p>
+
+<p>"Mary, I've found another name for myself."</p>
+
+<p>"Dear Chris! I'm so glad."</p>
+
+<p>"It's a real one, out of the old book. I thought of it entirely by
+myself."</p>
+
+<p>"Good Dwarf. What is your name?"</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Hose-in-Hose,</i>" said Christopher, still smiling down upon his legs.</p>
+
+
+<h3>CHAPTER IX.</h3>
+<p>Alas for the hose-in-hose!</p>
+
+<p>I laughed over Christopher and his double stockings, and I danced for
+joy when Bessy's Aunt told me that she had got me a fine lot of roots
+of double cowslips. I never guessed what misery I was about to suffer,
+because of the hose-in-hose.</p>
+
+<p>I had almost forgotten that Bessy's Aunt knew double cowslips. After I
+became Traveller's Joy I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[68]</a></span> was so busy with wayside planting that I had
+thought less of my own garden than usual, and had allowed Arthur to do
+what he liked with it as part of the Earthly Paradise (and he was
+always changing his plans), but Bessy's Aunt had not forgotten about
+it, which was very good of her.</p>
+
+<p>The Squire's Weeding Woman is old enough to be Bessy's Aunt, but she
+has an aunt of her own, who lives seven miles on the other side of the
+Moor, and the Weeding Woman does not get to see her very often. It is
+a very out-of-the-way village, and she has to wait for chances of a
+cart and team coming and going from one of the farms, and so get a
+lift.</p>
+
+<p>It was the Weeding Woman's Aunt who sent me the hose-in-hose.</p>
+
+<p>The Weeding Woman told me&mdash;"Aunt be mortal fond of her flowers, but
+she've no notions of gardening, not in the ways of a gentleman's
+garden. But she be after 'em all along, so well as the roomatiz in her
+back do let her, with an old shovel and a bit of stuff to keep the
+frost out, one time, and the old shovel and a bit of stuff to keep 'em
+moistened from the drought, another time; cuddling of 'em like
+Christians. Ee zee, Miss, Aunt be advanced in years; her family be off
+her mind, zum married, zum buried; and it zim as if her flowers be
+like new childern for her, spoilt childern, too, as I zay, and most
+fuss about they that be least worth it, zickly uns and contrairy<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[69]</a></span> uns,
+as parents will. Many's time I do say to she&mdash;'Th' old Zquire's
+garden, now, 'twould zim strange to thee, sartinly 'twould! How would
+'ee feel to see Gardener zowing's spring plants by the hunderd, and
+a-throwing of 'em away by the score when beds be vull, and turning of
+un out for bedding plants, and throwing they away when he've made his
+cuttings?' And she 'low she couldn't abear it, no more'n see Herod a
+mass-sakering of the Innocents. But if 'ee come to Bible, I do say
+Aunt put me in mind of the par'ble of the talents, she do, for what
+you give her she make ten of, while other folks be losing what they
+got. And 'tis well too, for if 'twas not for givin' of un away,
+seeing's she lose nothin', and can't abear to destry nothin', and
+never takes un up but to set un again, six in place of one, as I say,
+with such a mossel of a garden, 'Aunt, where would you be?' And she
+'low she can't tell, but the Lard would provide. 'Thank He,' I says,
+'You be so out o' way, and 'ee back so bad, and past travelling, zo
+there be no chance of 'ee ever seein' Old Zquire's Gardener's houses
+and they stove plants;' for if Gardener give un a pot, sure's death
+her'd set it in the chimbly nook on frosty nights, and put bed-quilt
+over un, and any cold corner would do for she."</p>
+
+<p>At this point the Weeding Woman became short of breath, and I managed
+to protest against taking so many plants of the hose-in-hose.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[70]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Take un and welcome, my dear, take un and welcome," replied Bessy's
+Aunt. "I did say to Aunt to keep two or dree, but 'One be aal I want,'
+her says, 'I'll have so many agin in a few years, dividin' of un in
+autumn,' her says. 'Thee've one foot in grave Aunt,' says I, 'it don't
+altogether become 'ee to forecast autumns,' I says, 'when next may be
+your latter end, 's like as not.' 'Niece,' her says, 'I be no ways
+presuming. His will be done,' her says, 'but if I'm spared I'll rear
+un, an if I'm took, 'twill be where I sha'n't want un. Zo let young
+lady have un,' her says. And there a be!"</p>
+
+<p>When I first saw the nice little plants, I did think of my own garden,
+but not for long. My next and final thought was&mdash;"Mary's Meadow!"</p>
+
+<p>Since I became Traveller's Joy, I had chiefly been busy in the
+hedge-rows by the high-roads, and in waste places, like the old
+quarry, and very bare and trampled bits, where there seemed to be no
+flowers at all.</p>
+
+<p>You cannot say that of Mary's Meadow. Not to be a garden, it is one of
+the most flowery places I know. I did once begin a list of all that
+grows in it, but it was in one of Arthur's old exercise books, which
+he had "thrown in," in a bargain we had, and there were very few blank
+pages left. I had thought a couple of pages would be more than enough,
+so I began with rather full accounts of the flowers, but I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[71]</a></span> used up
+the book long before I had written out one half of what blossoms in
+Mary's Meadow.</p>
+
+<p>Wild roses, and white bramble, and hawthorn, and dogwood, with its
+curious red flowers; and nuts, and maple, and privet, and all sorts of
+bushes in the hedge, far more than one would think; and ferns, and the
+stinking iris, which has such splendid berries, in the ditch&mdash;the
+ditch on the lower side where it is damp, and where I meant to sow
+forget-me-nots, like Alphonse Karr, for there are none there as it
+happens. On the other side, at the top of the field, it is dry, and
+blue succory grows, and grows out on the road beyond. The most
+beautiful blue possible, but so hard to pick. And there are Lent
+lilies, and lords and ladies, and ground ivy, which smells herby when
+you find it, trailing about and turning the color of Mother's "aurora"
+wool in green winters; and sweet white violets, and blue dog violets,
+and primroses, of course, and two or three kinds of orchis, and all
+over the field cowslips, cowslips, cowslips&mdash;to please the
+nightingale.</p>
+
+<p>And I wondered if the nightingale would find out the hose-in-hose,
+when I had planted six of them in the sunniest, cosiest corner of
+Mary's Meadow.</p>
+
+<p>For this was what I resolved to do, though I kept my resolve to
+myself, for which I was afterwards very glad. I did not tell the
+others because I thought that Arthur might want some of the plants for
+our<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[72]</a></span> Earthly Paradise, and I wanted to put them all in Mary's Meadow.
+I said to myself, like Bessy's great-aunt, that "if I was spared" I
+would go next year and divide the roots of the six, and bring some
+offsets to our gardens, but I would keep none back now. The
+nightingale should have them all.</p>
+
+<p>We had been busy in our gardens, and in the roads and bye-lanes, and I
+had not been in Mary's Meadow for a long time before the afternoon
+when I put my little trowel, and a bottle of water, and the six
+hose-in-hose into a basket, and was glad to get off quietly and alone
+to plant them. The highways and hedges were very dusty, but there it
+was very green. The nightingale had long been silent, I do not know
+where he was, but the rooks were not at all silent; they had been
+holding a parliament at the upper end of the field this morning, and
+were now all talking at once, and flapping about the tops of the big
+elms which were turning bright yellow, whilst down below a flight of
+starlings had taken their place, and sat in the prettiest circles; and
+groups of hedge-sparrows flew and mimicked them. And in the fields
+round about the sheep baaed, and the air, which was very sweet, was so
+quiet that these country noises were the only sounds to be heard, and
+they could be heard from very far away.</p>
+
+<p>I had found the exact spot I wanted, and had planted four of the
+hose-in-hose, and watered them<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[73]</a></span> from the bottle, and had the fifth in
+my hand, and the sixth still in the basket, when all these nice noises
+were drowned by a loud harsh shout which made me start, and sent the
+flight of starlings into the next field, and made the hedge-sparrows
+jump into the hedge.</p>
+
+<p>And when I looked up I saw the Old Squire coming towards me, and
+storming and shaking his fist at me as he came. But with the other
+hand he held Saxon by the collar, who was struggling to get away from
+him and to go to me.</p>
+
+<p>I had so entirely forgotten about Father's quarrel with the Squire,
+that when the sight of the old gentleman in a rage suddenly reminded
+me, I was greatly stupefied and confused, and really did not at first
+hear what he said. But when I understood that he was accusing me of
+digging cowslips out of his field, I said at once (and pretty loud,
+for he was deaf) that I was not digging up anything, but was planting
+double cowslips to grow up and spread amongst the common ones.</p>
+
+<p>I suppose it did sound rather unlikely, as the Old Squire knew nothing
+about our game, but a thing being unlikely, is no reason for calling
+truthful people liars, and that was what the Old Squire called me.</p>
+
+<p>It choked me, and when he said I was shameless, and that he had caught
+me with the plants upon me, and yelled to me to empty my basket, I
+threw away<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[74]</a></span> the fifth and sixth hose-in-hose as if they had been
+adders, but I could not speak again. He must have been beside himself
+with rage, for he called me all sorts of names, and said I was my
+father's own child, a liar and a thief. Whilst he was talking about
+sending me to prison (and I thought of Harry's dream, and turned cold
+with fear), Saxon was tugging to get to me, and at last he got away
+and came rushing up.</p>
+
+<p><i>Now</i> I knew that the Old Squire was holding Saxon back because he
+thought Saxon wanted to worry me as a trespasser, but I don't know
+whether he let Saxon go at last, because he thought I deserved to be
+worried, or whether Saxon got away of himself. When his paws were
+almost on me the Old Squire left off abusing me, and yelled to the
+dog, who at last, very unwillingly, went back to him, but when he just
+got to the Squire's feet he stopped, and pawed the ground in the funny
+way he sometimes does, and looked up at his master as much as to say,
+"You see it's only play," and then turned round and raced back to me
+as hard as he could lay legs to ground. This time he reached me, and
+jumped to lick my face, and I threw my arms round his neck and burst
+into tears.</p>
+
+<p>When you are crying and kissing at the same time, you cannot hear
+anything else, so what more the Old Squire said I do not know.</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;">
+<img class="img1" src="images/image_01.jpg" width="400" height="562" alt="I THREW MY ARMS ROUND HIS NECK AND BURST INTO TEARS"  />
+<span class="caption"><span class="smcap">I threw my arms round his neck and burst into tears.
+</span></span></div>
+
+<p>I picked up my basket and trowel at once, and fled homewards as fast
+as I could go, which was not very <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[75]</a></span>fast, so breathless was I with
+tears and shame and fright.</p>
+
+<p>When I was safe in our grounds I paused and looked back. The Old
+Squire was still there, shouting and gesticulating, and Saxon was at
+his heels, and over the hedge two cows were looking at him; but the
+rooks and the starlings were far off in distant trees and fields.</p>
+
+<p>And I sobbed afresh when I remembered that I had been called a liar
+and a thief, and had lost every one of my hose-in-hose; and this was
+all that had come of trying to make an Earthly Paradise of Mary's
+Meadow, and of taking upon myself the name of Traveller's Joy.</p>
+
+
+<h3>CHAPTER X.</h3>
+<p>I told no one. It was bad enough to think of by myself. I could not
+have talked about it. But every day I expected that the Old Squire
+would send a letter or a policeman, or come himself, and rage and
+storm, and tell Father.</p>
+
+<p>He never did; and no one seemed to suspect that anything had gone
+wrong, except that Mother fidgeted because I looked ill, and would
+show me to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[76]</a></span> Dr. Solomon. It is a good thing doctors tell you what they
+think is the matter, and don't ask you what you think, for I could not
+have told him about the Squire. He said I was below par, and that it
+was our abominable English climate, and he sent me a bottle of tonic.
+And when I had taken half the bottle, and had begun to leave off
+watching for the policeman, I looked quite well again. So I took the
+rest, not to waste it, and thought myself very lucky. My only fear now
+was that Bessy's aunt might ask after the hose-in-hose. But she never
+did.</p>
+
+<p>I had one more fright, where I least expected it. It had never
+occurred to me that Lady Catherine would take an interest in our game,
+and want to know what we had done, and what we were doing, and what we
+were going to do, or I should have been far more afraid of her than of
+Bessy's aunt. For the Weeding Woman has a good deal of delicacy, and
+often begs pardon for taking liberties; but if Aunt Catherine takes an
+interest, and wants to know, she asks one question after another, and
+does not think whether you like to answer or not.</p>
+
+<p>She took an interest in our game after one of Christopher's luncheons
+with her.</p>
+
+<p>She often asks Chris to go there to luncheon, all by himself. Father
+is not very fond of his going, chiefly, I fancy, because he is so fond
+of Chris, and misses him. Sometimes, in the middle of luncheon,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[77]</a></span> he
+looks at Christopher's empty place, and says, "I wonder what those two
+are talking about over their pudding. They are the queerest pair of
+friends." If we ask Chris what they have talked about, he wags his
+head, and looks very well pleased with himself, and says, "Lots of
+things. I tell her things, and she tells me things." And that is all
+we can get out of him.</p>
+
+<p>A few weeks afterwards, after I lost the hose-in-hose, Chris went to
+have luncheon with Aunt Catherine, and he came back rather later than
+usual.</p>
+
+<p>"You must have been telling each other a good deal to-day, Chris," I
+said.</p>
+
+<p>"I told her lots," said Chris, complacently. "She didn't tell me
+nothing, hardly. But I told her lots. My apple fritter got cold whilst
+I was telling it. She sent it away, and had two hot ones, new, on
+purpose for me."</p>
+
+<p>"What <i>did</i> you tell her!"</p>
+
+<p>"I told her your story; she liked it very much. And I told her
+Daffodils, and about my birthday; and I told her Cowslips&mdash;all of
+them. Oh, I told her lots. She didn't tell me nothing."</p>
+
+<p>A few days later, Aunt Catherine asked us to tea&mdash;all of us&mdash;me,
+Arthur, Adela, Harry, and Chris. And she asked us all about our game.
+When Harry said, "I dig up, but Mary plants&mdash;not in our garden, but in
+wild places, and woods, and hedges, and fields,"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[78]</a></span> Lady Catherine blew
+her nose very loud, and said, "I should think you don't do much
+digging and planting in that field your Father went to law about?" and
+my teeth chattered so with fright that I think Lady Catherine would
+have heard them if she hadn't been blowing her nose. But, luckily for
+me, Arthur said, "Oh, we never go near Mary's Meadow, now, we're so
+busy." And then Aunt Catherine asked what made us think of my name,
+and I repeated most of the bit from Alphonse Karr, for I knew it by
+heart now; and Arthur repeated what John Parkinson says about the
+"Honisuckle that groweth wild in every hedge," and how he left it
+there, "to serve their senses that travel by it, or have no garden;"
+and then he said, "So Mary is called Traveller's Joy, because she
+plants flowers in the hedges, to serve their senses that travel by
+them."</p>
+
+<p>"And who serves them that have no garden?" asked Aunt Catherine,
+sticking her gold glasses over her nose, and looking at us.</p>
+
+<p>"None of us do," said Arthur, after thinking for a minute.</p>
+
+<p>"Humph!" said Aunt Catherine.</p>
+
+<p>Next time Chris was asked to luncheon, I was asked too. Father laughed
+at me, and teased me, but I went.</p>
+
+<p>I was very much amused by the airs which Chris gave himself at table.
+He was perfectly well behaved,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[79]</a></span> but, in his quiet, old-fashioned way,
+he certainly gave himself airs. We have only one man indoors&mdash;James;
+but Aunt Catherine has three&mdash;a butler, a footman, and a second
+footman. The second footman kept near Christopher, who sat opposite
+Aunt Catherine, (she made me sit on one side), and seemed to watch to
+attend upon him; but if Christopher did want anything, he always
+ignored this man, and asked the butler for it, and called him by his
+name.</p>
+
+<p>After a bit, Aunt Catherine began to talk about the game again.</p>
+
+<p>"Have you got anyone to serve them that have no garden, yet?" she
+asked.</p>
+
+<p>Christopher shook his head, and said "No."</p>
+
+<p>"Humph," said Aunt Catherine; "better take me into the game."</p>
+
+<p>"Could you be of any use?" asked Christopher. "Toast and water,
+Chambers."</p>
+
+<p>The butler nodded, as majestically as Chris himself, to the second
+footman, who flew to replenish the silver mug, which had been Lady
+Catherine's when she was a little girl. When Christopher had drained
+it (he is a very thirsty boy), he repeated the question.</p>
+
+<p>"Do you think you could be of any use?"</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Chambers, the butler, never seems to hear anything that people
+say, except when they ask for something to eat or drink; and he does
+not often hear that, because he watches to see what you want, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[80]</a></span>
+gives it of himself, or sends it by the footman. He looks just as if
+he was having his photograph taken, staring at a point on the wall and
+thinking of nothing; but when Christopher repeated his question I saw
+Chambers frown, I believe he thinks Christopher presumes on Lady
+Catherine's kindness, and does not approve of it.</p>
+
+<p>It is quite the other way with Aunt Catherine. Just when you would
+think she must turn angry, and scold Chris for being rude, she only
+begins to laugh, and shakes like a jelly (she is very stout) and
+encourages him. She said,</p>
+
+<p>"Take care all that toast and water doesn't get into your head,
+Chris."</p>
+
+<p>She said that to vex him, because, ever since he heard that he had
+water on the brain, Chris is very easily affronted about his head. He
+was affronted now, and began to eat his bread-and-butter pudding in
+silence, Lady Catherine still shaking and laughing. Then she wiped her
+eyes, and said,</p>
+
+<p>"Never mind, old man, I'm going to tell you something. Put the sugar
+and cream on the table, Chambers, and you needn't wait."</p>
+
+<p>The men went out quietly, and Aunt Catherine went on:</p>
+
+<p>"Where do you think I was yesterday? In the new barracks&mdash;a place I
+set my face against ever since they began to build it, and spoil one
+of my best<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[81]</a></span> peeps from the Rhododendron Walk. I went to see a young
+cousin of mine, who was fool enough to marry a poor officer, and have
+a lot of little boys and girls, no handsomer than you, Chris."</p>
+
+<p>"Are they as handsome?" said Chris, who had recovered himself, and was
+selecting currants from his pudding, and laying them aside for a final
+<i>bonne bouche</i>.</p>
+
+<p>"Humph! Perhaps not. But they eat so much pudding, and wear out so
+many boots, that they are all too poor to live anywhere except in
+barracks."</p>
+
+<p>Christopher laid down his spoon, and looked as he always looks when he
+is hearing a sad story.</p>
+
+<p>"Is barracks like the workhouse, Aunt Catherine?" he asked.</p>
+
+<p>"A good deal like the workhouse," said Aunt Catherine. Then she went
+on&mdash;"I told her Mother I could not begin calling at the barracks.
+There are some very low streets close by, and my coachman said he
+couldn't answer for his horses with bugles, and perhaps guns, going
+off when you least expect them. I told her I would ask them to dinner;
+and I did, but they were engaged. Well, yesterday I changed my mind,
+and I told Harness that I meant to go to the barracks, and the horses
+would have to take me. So we started. When we were going along the
+upper road, between the high hedges, what do you think I saw?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[82]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Chris had been going on with his pudding again, but he paused to make
+a guess.</p>
+
+<p>"A large cannon, just going off?"</p>
+
+<p>"No. If I'd seen that, you wouldn't have seen any more of me. I saw
+masses of wild clematis scrambling everywhere, so that the hedge
+looked as if somebody had been dressing it up in tufts of feathers."</p>
+
+<p>As she said this, Lady Catherine held out her hand to me across the
+table very kindly. She has a fat hand, covered with rings, and I put
+my hand into it.</p>
+
+<p>"And what do you think came into my head?" she asked.</p>
+
+<p>"Toast and water," said Chris, maliciously.</p>
+
+<p>"No, you monkey. I began to think of hedge-flowers, and travellers,
+and Traveller's Joy."</p>
+
+<p>Aunt Catherine shook my hand here, and dropped it.</p>
+
+<p>"And you thought how nice it was for the poor travellers to have such
+nice flowers," said Chris, smiling, and wagging his head up and down.</p>
+
+<p>"Nothing of the kind," said Aunt Catherine, brusquely. "I thought what
+lots of flowers the travellers had already, without Mary planting any
+more; and I thought not one traveller in a dozen paid much attention
+to them&mdash;begging John Parkinson's pardon&mdash;and how much more in want of
+flowers people 'that have no garden' are; and then I thought of that
+poor girl in those bare barracks, whose old home<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[83]</a></span> was one of the
+prettiest places, with the loveliest garden, in all Berkshire."</p>
+
+<p>"Was it an Earthly Paradise?" asked Chris.</p>
+
+<p>"It was, indeed. Well, when I thought of her inside those brick walls,
+looking out on one of those yards they march about in, now they've cut
+down all the trees, and planted sentry boxes, I put my best bonnet out
+of the window, which always spoils the feather, and told Harness to
+turn his horses' heads, and drive home again."</p>
+
+<p>"What for?" said Chris, as brusquely as Lady Catherine.</p>
+
+<p>"I sent for Hobbs."</p>
+
+<p>"Hobbs the Gardener?" said Chris.</p>
+
+<p>"Hobbs the Gardener; and I told Chambers to give him the basket from
+the second peg, and then I sent him into the conservatory to fill it.
+Mary, my dear, I am very particular about my baskets. If ever I lend
+you my diamonds, and you lose them, I may forgive you&mdash;I shall know
+<i>that</i> was an accident; but if I lend you a basket, and you don't
+return it, don't look me in the face again. I always write my name on
+them, so there's no excuse. And I don't know a greater piece of
+impudence&mdash;and people are wonderfully impudent now-a-days&mdash;than to
+think that because a thing only cost fourpence, you need not be at the
+trouble of keeping it clean and dry, and of sending it back."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[84]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Some more toast and water please," said Chris.</p>
+
+<p>Aunt Catherine helped him, and continued&mdash;"Hobbs is a careful man&mdash;he
+has been with me ten years&mdash;he doesn't cut flowers recklessly as a
+rule, but when I saw that basket I said, 'Hobbs, you've been very
+extravagant.' He looked ashamed of himself, but he said, 'I understood
+they was for Miss Kitty, m'm. She's been used to nice gardens, m'm.'
+Hobbs lived with them in Berkshire before he came to me."</p>
+
+<p>"It was very nice of Hobbs," said Chris, emphatically.</p>
+
+<p>"Humph!" said Aunt Catherine, "the flowers were mine."</p>
+
+<p>"Did you ever get to the barracks?" asked Chris, "and what was they
+like when you did?"</p>
+
+<p>"They were about as unlike Kitty's old home as anything could well be,
+She has made her rooms pretty enough, but it was easy to see she is
+hard up for flowers. She's got an old rose-colored Sevres bowl that
+was my Grandmother's, and there it was, filled with bramble leaves and
+Traveller's Joy, (which <i>she</i> calls Old Man's Beard; Kitty always
+would differ from her elders!) and a soup-plate full of
+forget-me-nots. She said two of the children had half-drowned
+themselves, and lost a good straw hat in getting them for her. Just
+like their mother, as I told her."</p>
+
+<p>"What did she say when you brought out the basket?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[85]</a></span> asked Chris,
+disposing of his reserve of currants at one mouthful, and laying down
+his spoon.</p>
+
+<p>"She said, 'Oh! oh! oh!' till I told her to say something more
+amusing, and then she said, 'I could cry for joy!' and, 'Tell Hobbs he
+remembers all my favorites.'"</p>
+
+<p>Christopher here bent his head over his empty plate, and said grace
+(Chris is very particular about his grace), and then got down from his
+chair and went up to Lady Catherine, and threw his arms round her as
+far as they would go, saying, "You are good. And I love you. I should
+think she thinked you was a fairy godmother."</p>
+
+<p>After they had hugged each other, Aunt Catherine said, "Will you take
+me into the game, if I serve them that have no garden?"</p>
+
+<p>Chris and I said "Yes" with one voice.</p>
+
+<p>"Then come into the drawing-room," said Aunt Catherine, getting up and
+giving a hand to each of us. "And Chris shall give me a name."</p>
+
+<p>Chris pondered a long time on this subject, and seemed a good deal
+disturbed in his mind. Presently he said, "I <i>won't</i> be selfish. You
+shall have it."</p>
+
+<p>"Shall have what, you oddity?"</p>
+
+<p>"I'm not an oddity, and I'm going to give you the name I invented for
+myself. But you'll have to wear four stockings, two up and two down."</p>
+
+<p>"Then you may keep <i>that</i> name to yourself," said Aunt Catherine.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[86]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Christopher looked relieved.</p>
+
+<p>"Perhaps you'd not like to be called Old Man's Beard?"</p>
+
+<p>"Certainly not!" said Aunt Catherine.</p>
+
+<p>"It <i>is</i> more of a boy's name," said Chris. "You might be the
+Franticke or Foolish Cowslip, but it is Jack an Apes on Horseback too,
+and that's a boy's name. You shall be a Daffodil, not a dwarf
+daffodil, but a big one, because you are big. Wait a minute&mdash;I know
+which you shall be. You shall be Nonsuch. It's a very big one, and it
+means none like it. So you shall be Nonsuch, for there's no one like
+you."</p>
+
+<p>On which Christopher and Lady Catherine hugged each other afresh.</p>
+
+<hr style='width: 45%;' />
+
+<p>"Who told most to-day?" asked Father when we got home.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, Aunt Catherine. Much most," said Christopher.</p>
+
+
+<h3>CHAPTER XI.</h3>
+<p>The height of our game was in Autumn. It is such a good time for
+digging up, and planting, and dividing, and making cuttings, and
+gathering seeds, and sowing them too. But it went by very quickly,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[87]</a></span>
+and when the leaves began to fall they fell very quickly, and Arthur
+never had to go up the trees and shake them.</p>
+
+<p>After the first hard frost we quite gave up playing at the Earthly
+Paradise; first, because there was nothing we could do, and, secondly,
+because a lot of snow fell, and Arthur had a grand idea of making snow
+statues all along the terrace, so that Mother could see them from the
+drawing-room windows. We worked very hard, and it was very difficult
+to manage legs without breaking; so we made most of them Romans in
+togas, and they looked very well from a distance, and lasted a long
+time, because the frost lasted.</p>
+
+<p>And, by degrees, I almost forgot that terrible afternoon in Mary's
+Meadow. Only when Saxon came to see us I told him that I was very glad
+that no one understood his bark, so that he could not let out what had
+become of the hose-in-hose.</p>
+
+<p>But when the winter was past, and the snowdrops came out in the
+shrubbery, and there were catkins on the nut trees, and the missel
+thrush we had been feeding in the frost sat out on mild days and sang
+to us, we all of us began to think of our gardens again, and to go
+poking about "with our noses in the borders," as Arthur said, "as if
+we were dogs snuffing after truffles." What we really were "snuffing
+after" were the plants we had planted in autumn, and which were poking
+and sprouting, and coming up in all directions.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[88]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Arthur and Harry did real gardening in the Easter holidays, and they
+captured Adela now and then, and made her weed. But Christopher's
+delight was to go with me to the waste places and hedges, where I had
+planted things as Traveller's Joy, and to get me to show them to him
+where they had begun to make a spring start, and to help him to make
+up rambling stories, which he called "Supposings," of what the flowers
+would be like, and what this or that traveller would say when he saw
+them. One of his favorite <i>supposings</i> was&mdash;"Supposing a very poor man
+was coming along the road, with his dinner in a handkerchief; and
+supposing he sat down under the hedge to eat it; and supposing it was
+cold beef, and he had no mustard; and supposing there was a seed on
+your nasturtium plants, and he knew it wouldn't poison him; and
+supposing he ate it with his beef, and it tasted nice and hot, like a
+pickle, wouldn't he wonder how it got there?"</p>
+
+<p>But when the primroses had been out a long time, and the cowslips were
+coming into bloom, to my horror Christopher began "supposing" that we
+should find hose-in-hose in some of the fields, and all my efforts to
+put this idea out of his head, and to divert him from the search, were
+utterly in vain.</p>
+
+<p>Whether it had anything to do with his having had water on the brain I
+do not know, but when once an idea got into Christopher's head there
+was no dislodging<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[89]</a></span> it. He now talked of hose-in-hose constantly. One
+day he announced that he was "discontented" once more, and should
+remain so till he had "found a hose-in-hose." I enticed him to a field
+where I knew it was possible to secure an occasional oxlip, but he
+only looked pale, shook his head distressingly, and said, "I don't
+think nothin' of Oxlips." Colored primroses would not comfort him. He
+professed to disbelieve in the time-honored prescription, "Plant a
+primrose upside down, and it will come up a polyanthus," and refused
+to help me to make the experiment. At last the worst came. He suddenly
+spoke, with smiles&mdash;"I <i>know</i> where we'll find hose-in-hose! In Mary's
+Meadow. It's the fullest field of cowslips there is. Hurrah! Supposing
+we find hose-in-hose, and supposing we find green cowslips, and
+supposing we find curled cowslips or galligaskins, and supposing&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>But I could not bear it. I fairly ran away from him, and shut myself
+up in my room and cried. I knew it was silly, and yet I could not bear
+the thought of having to satisfy everybody's curiosity, and describe
+that scene in Mary's Meadow, which had wounded me so bitterly, and
+explain why I had not told of it before.</p>
+
+<p>I cried, too, for another reason. Mary's Meadow had been dear to us
+all, ever since I could remember. It was always our favorite field. We
+had coaxed our<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[90]</a></span> nurses there, when we could induce them to leave the
+high road, or when, luckily for us, on account of an epidemic, or for
+some reason or another, they were forbidden to go gossiping into the
+town. We had "pretended" fairies in the nooks of the delightfully
+neglected hedges, and we had found fairy-rings to prove our
+pretendings true. We went there for flowers; we went there for
+mushrooms and puff-balls; we went there to hear the nightingale. What
+cowslip balls, and what cowslip tea-parties it had afforded us. It is
+fair to the Old Squire to say that we were sad trespassers, before he
+and Father quarrelled and went to law. For Mary's Meadow was a field
+with every quality to recommend it to childish affections.</p>
+
+<p>And now I was banished from it, not only by the quarrel, of which we
+had really not heard much, or realised it as fully, but by my own
+bitter memories. I cried afresh to think I should never go again to
+the corner where I always found the earliest violets; and then I cried
+to think that the nightingale would soon be back, and how that very
+morning, when I opened my window, I had heard the cuckoo, and could
+tell that he was calling from just about Mary's Meadow.</p>
+
+<p>I cried my eyes into such a state, that I was obliged to turn my
+attention to making them fit to be seen; and I had spent quite half an
+hour in bathing them and breathing on my handkerchief, and dabbing
+them, which is more soothing, when I heard Mother calling<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[91]</a></span> me. I
+winked hard, drew a few long breaths, rubbed my cheeks, which were so
+white they showed up my red eyes, and ran downstairs. Mother was
+coming to meet me. She said&mdash;"Where is Christopher?"</p>
+
+<p>It startled me. I said, "He was with me in the garden, about&mdash;oh,
+about an hour ago; have you lost him? I'll go and look for him."</p>
+
+<p>And I snatched up a garden hat, which shaded my swollen eyelids, and
+ran out. I could not find him anywhere, and becoming frightened, I ran
+down the drive, calling him as I went, and through the gate, and out
+into the road.</p>
+
+<p>A few yards farther on I met him.</p>
+
+<p>That child is most extraordinary. One minute he looks like a ghost; an
+hour later his face is beaming with a radiance that seems absolutely
+to fatten him under your eyes. That was how he looked just then as he
+came towards me, smiling in an effulgent sort of way, as if he were
+the noonday sun&mdash;no less, and carrying a small nosegay in his hand.</p>
+
+<p>When he came within hearing he boasted, as if he had been C&aelig;sar
+himself.</p>
+
+<p>"I went; I found it. I've got them."</p>
+
+<p>And as he held his hand up, and waved the nosegay&mdash;I knew all. He had
+been to Mary's Meadow, and the flowers between his fingers were
+hose-in-hose.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[92]</a></span></p>
+
+
+<h3>CHAPTER XII</h3>
+<p>"I won't be selfish, Mary," Christopher said. "You invented the game,
+and you told me about them. You shall have them in water on your
+dressing-table; they might get lost in the nursery. Bessy is always
+throwing things out. To-morrow I shall go and look for galligaskins."</p>
+
+<p>I was too glad to keep them from Bessy's observation, as well as her
+unparalleled powers of destruction, which I knew well. I put them into
+a slim glass on my table, and looked stupidly at them, and then out of
+the window at Mary's Meadow.</p>
+
+<p>So they had lived&mdash;and grown&mdash;and settled there&mdash;and were now in
+bloom. <i>My</i> plants.</p>
+
+<p>Next morning I was sitting, drawing, in the school-room window, when I
+saw the Old Squire coming up the drive. There is no mistaking him when
+you can see him at all. He is a big, handsome old man, with white
+whiskers, and a white hat, and white gaiters, and he generally wears a
+light coat, and a flower in his button-hole. The flower he wore this
+morning looked like&mdash;&mdash;, but I was angry with myself for thinking of
+it, and went on drawing again, as well as I could, for I could not
+help wondering why he was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[93]</a></span> coming to our house. Then it struck me he
+might have seen Chris trespassing, and he might be coming at last to
+lay a formal complaint.</p>
+
+<p>Twenty minutes later James came to tell me that Father wished to see
+me in the library, and when I got there, Father was just settling his
+eye-glass in his eye, and the Old Squire was standing on the
+hearth-rug, with a big piece of paper in his hand. And then I saw that
+I was right, and that the flowers in his button-hole were
+hose-in-hose.</p>
+
+<p>As I came in he laid down the paper, took the hose-in-hose out of his
+button-hole in his left hand, and held out his right hand to me,
+saying: "I'm more accustomed to public speaking than to private
+speaking, Miss Mary. But&mdash;&mdash;will you be friends with me?"</p>
+
+<p>In Mary's Meadow my head had got all confused, because I was
+frightened. I was not frightened to-day, and I saw the whole matter in
+a moment. He had found the double cowslips, and he knew now that I was
+neither a liar nor a thief. I was glad, but I could not feel very
+friendly to him. I said, "You can speak when you are angry."</p>
+
+<p>Though he was behind me, I could feel Father coming nearer, and I knew
+somehow that he had taken out his glass again to rub it and put it
+back, as he does when he is rather surprised or amused. I was afraid
+he meant to laugh at me afterwards, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[94]</a></span> he can tease terribly, but I
+could not have helped saying what came into my head that morning if I
+had tried. When you have suffered a great deal about anything, you
+cannot sham, not even politeness.</p>
+
+<p>The Old Squire got rather red. Then he said, "I am afraid I am very
+hasty, my dear, and say very unjustifiable things. But I am very
+sorry, and I beg your pardon. Will you forgive me?"</p>
+
+<p>I said, "Of course, if you're sorry, I forgive you, but you have been
+a very long time in repenting."</p>
+
+<p>Which was true. If I had been cross with one of the others, and had
+borne malice for five months, I should have thought myself very
+wicked. But when I had said it, I felt sorry, for the old gentleman
+made no answer. Father did not speak either, and I began to feel very
+miserable. I touched the flowers, and the Old Squire gave them to me
+in silence. I thanked him very much, and then I said&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"I am very glad you know about it now.... I'm very glad they lived....
+I hope you like them? ... I hope, if you do like them, that they'll
+grow and spread all over your field."</p>
+
+<p>The Old Squire spoke at last. He said, "It is not my field any
+longer."</p>
+
+<p>I said, "Oh, why?"</p>
+
+<p>"I have given it away; I have been a long time in repenting, but when
+I did repent I punished myself. I have given it away."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[95]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>It overwhelmed me, and when he took up the big paper again, I thought
+he was going, and I tried to stop him, for I was sorry I had spoken
+unkindly to him, and I wanted to be friends.</p>
+
+<p>"Please don't go," I said. "Please stop and be friends. And oh,
+please, please don't give Mary's Meadow away. You mustn't punish
+yourself. There's nothing to punish yourself for. I forgive you with
+all my heart, and I'm sorry I spoke crossly. I have been so very
+miserable, and I was so vexed at wasting the hose-in-hose, because
+Bessie's great aunt gave them to me, and I've none left. Oh, the
+unkindest thing you could do to me now would be to give away Mary's
+Meadow."</p>
+
+<p>The Old Squire had taken both my hands in his, and now he asked very
+kindly&mdash;"Why, my dear, why don't you want me to give away Mary's
+Meadow?"</p>
+
+<p>"Because we are so fond of it. And because I was beginning to hope
+that now we're friends, and you know we don't want to steal your
+things, or to hurt your field, perhaps you would let us play in it
+sometimes, and perhaps have Saxon to play with us there. We are so
+very fond of him too."</p>
+
+<p>"You are fond of Mary's Meadow?" said the Old Squire.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, yes! We have been fond of it all our lives. We don't think there
+is any field like it, and I don't believe there can be. Don't give it
+away. You'll<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[96]</a></span> never get one with such flowers in it again. And now
+there are hose-in-hose, and they are not at all common. Bessy's aunt's
+aunt has only got one left, and she's taking care of it with a shovel.
+And if you'll let us in we'll plant a lot of things, and do no harm,
+we will indeed. And the nightingale will be here directly. Oh, don't
+give it away!"</p>
+
+<p>My head was whirling now with the difficulty of persuading him, and I
+did not hear what he said across me to my father. But I heard Father's
+reply&mdash;"Tell her yourself, sir."</p>
+
+<p>On which the Old Squire stuffed the big paper into my arms, and put
+his hand on my head and patted it.</p>
+
+<p>"I told you I was a bad hand at talking, my dear," he said, "but
+Mary's Meadow is given away, and that's the Deed of Gift which you've
+got in your arms, drawn up as tight as any rascal of a lawyer can do
+it, and that's not so tight, I believe, but what some other rascal of
+a lawyer could undo it. However, they may let you alone. For I've
+given it to you, my dear, and it is yours. So you can plant, and play,
+and do what you please there. 'You, and your heirs and assigns, for
+ever,' as the rascals say."</p>
+
+<p>It was my turn now to be speechless. But as I stared blankly in front
+of me, I saw that Father had come round, and was looking at me through
+his eye-glass. He nodded to me, and said, "Yes, Mary,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[97]</a></span> the Squire has
+given Mary's Meadow to you, and it is yours."</p>
+
+<hr style='width: 45%;' />
+
+<p>Nothing would induce the Old Squire to take it back, so I had to have
+it, for my very own. He said he had always been sorry he had spoken so
+roughly to me, but he could not say so, as he and Father were not on
+speaking terms. Just lately he was dining with Lady Catherine, to meet
+her cousins from the Barracks, and she was telling people after dinner
+about our game (rather mean of her, I think, to let out our secrets at
+a dinner party), and when he heard about my planting things in the
+hedges, he remembered what I had said. And next day he went to the
+place to look, and there were the hose-in-hose.</p>
+
+<p>Oh, how delighted the others were when they heard that Mary's Meadow
+belonged to me.</p>
+
+<p>"It's like having an Earthly Paradise given to you, straight off!"
+said Harry.</p>
+
+<p>"And one that doesn't want weeding," said Adela.</p>
+
+<p>"And oh, Mary, Mary!" cried Arthur. "Think of the yards and yards of
+top-spit. It does rejoice me to think I can go to you now when I'm making
+compost, and need not be beholden to that old sell-up-your-grandfather John
+for as much as would fill Adela's weeding basket, and that's about as small
+an article as anyone can make-believe with."</p>
+
+<p>"It's very heavy when it's full," said Adela.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[98]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Is everything hers?" asked Christopher. "Is the grass hers, and the
+trees hers, and the hedges hers, and the rooks hers, and the starling
+hers, and will the nightingale be hers when he comes home, and if she
+could dig through to the other side of the world, would there be a
+field the same size in Australia that would be hers, and are the sheep
+hers, and&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"For mercy's sake stop that catalogue, Chris," said Father. "Of course
+the sheep are not hers; they were moved yesterday. By-the-bye, Mary, I
+don't know what you propose to do with your property, but if you like
+to let it to me, I'll turn some sheep in to-morrow, and I'll pay you
+so much a year, which I advise you to put in the Post Office Savings'
+Bank."</p>
+
+<p>I couldn't fancy Mary's Meadow always without sheep, so I was too
+thankful; though at first I could not see that it was fair that dear
+Father should let me have his sheep to look pretty in my field for
+nothing, and pay me, too. He is always teasing me about my field, and
+he teases me a good deal about the Squire, too. He says we have set up
+another queer friendship in the family, and that the Old Squire and I
+are as odd a pair as Aunt Catherine and Chris.</p>
+
+<p>I am very fond of the Old Squire now, and he is<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[99]</a></span> very kind to me. He
+wants to give me Saxon, but I will not accept him. It would be
+selfish. But the Old Squire says I had better take him, for we have
+quite spoilt him for a yard dog by petting him, till he has not a bit
+of savageness left in him. We do not believe Saxon ever was savage;
+but I daren't say so to the Old Squire, for he does not like you to
+think you know better than he does about anything. There is one other
+subject on which he expects to be humored, and I am careful not to
+offend him. He cannot tolerate the idea that he might be supposed to
+have yielded to Father the point about which they went to law, in
+giving Mary's Meadow to me. He is always lecturing me on
+encroachments, and the abuse of privileges, and warning me to be very
+strict about trespassers on the path through Mary's Meadow; and now
+that the field is mine, nothing will induce him to walk in it without
+asking my leave. That is his protest against the decision from which
+he meant to appeal.</p>
+
+<p>Though I have not accepted Saxon, he spends most of his time with us.
+He likes to come for the night, because he sleeps on the floor of my
+room, instead of in a kennel, which must be horrid, I am sure.
+Yesterday, the Old Squire said, "One of these fine days, when Master
+Saxon does not come home till morning, he'll find a big mastiff in his
+kennel,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[100]</a></span> and will have to seek a home for himself where he can."</p>
+
+<p>Chris has been rather whimsical lately. Father says Lady Catherine
+spoils him. One day he came to me looking very peevish, and said,
+"Mary, if a hedgehog should come and live in one of your hedges,
+Michael says he would be yours, he's sure. If Michael finds him, will
+you give him to me?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, Chris; but what do you want with a hedgehog?"</p>
+
+<p>"I want him to sleep by my bed," said Chris. "You have Saxon by your
+bed; I want something by mine. I want a hedgehog. I feel discontented
+without a hedgehog. I think I might have some thing the matter with my
+brain if I didn't get a hedgehog pretty soon. Can I go with Michael
+and look for him this afternoon?" and he put his hand to his forehead.</p>
+
+<p>"Chris, Chris!" I said, "you should not be so sly. You're a real
+slyboots. Double-stockings and slyboots." And I took him on my lap.</p>
+
+<p>Chris put his arms round my neck, and buried his cheek against mine.</p>
+
+<p>"I won't be sly, Mary," he whispered; and then, hugging me as he hugs
+Lady Catherine, he added, "For I do love you; for you are a darling,
+and I do really think it always was yours."</p>
+
+<p>"What, Chris?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[101]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"If not," said Chris, "why was it always called <span class="smcap">Mary's Meadow</span>?"</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p><span class="smcap">Note</span>.&mdash;If any readers of "Mary's Meadow" have been as completely
+puzzled as the writer was by the title of John Parkinson's old
+book, it may interest them to know that the question has been
+raised and answered in <i>Notes and Queries</i>.</p>
+
+<p>I first saw the <i>Paradisi in sole Paradisus terrestris</i> at Kew,
+some years ago, and was much bewitched by its quaint charm. I
+grieve to say that I do not possess it; but an old friend and
+florist&mdash;the Rev. H. T. Ellacombe&mdash;was good enough to lend me his
+copy for reference, and to him I wrote for the meaning of the
+title. But his scholarship, and that of other learned friends,
+was quite at fault. My old friend's youthful energies (he will
+permit me to say that he is ninety-four) were not satisfied to
+rust in ignorance, and he wrote to <i>Notes and Queries</i> on the
+subject, and has been twice answered. It is an absurd play upon
+words, after the fashion of John Parkinson's day. Paradise, as
+<span class="smcap">Aunt-Judy's</span> readers may know, is originally an Eastern word,
+meaning a park, or pleasure ground. I am ashamed to say that the
+knowledge of this fact did not help me to the pun. <i>Paradisi in
+sole Paradisus terrestris</i> means Park&mdash;in&mdash;son's Earthly
+Paradise!</p></div>
+
+<p class="f2">J. H. E., <i>February</i>, 1884.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[102]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="LETTERS_FROM_A_LITTLE_GARDEN" id="LETTERS_FROM_A_LITTLE_GARDEN"></a>LETTERS FROM A LITTLE GARDEN.</h2>
+
+<h3>LETTER I.</h3>
+<p class="center">"All is fine that is fit."&mdash;<i>Old Proverb.</i></p>
+
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Dear Little Friend</span>,</p>
+
+<p>When, with the touching confidence of youth that your elders have
+made-up as well as grown-up minds on all subjects, you asked my
+opinion on <i>Ribbon-gardening</i>, the above proverb came into my head, to
+the relief of its natural tendency to see an inconvenient number of
+sides to every question. The more I reflect upon it, the more I am
+convinced it is a comfortably compact confession of my faith on all
+matters decorative, and thence on the decoration of gardens.</p>
+
+<p>I take some credit to myself for having the courage of my moderation,
+since you obviously expect a more sweeping reply. The bedding-out
+system is in bad odor just now; and you ask, "Wasn't it hideous?" and
+"Wasn't it hateful?" and "Will it ever come into fashion again, to the
+re-extermination of the dear old-fashioned flowers which we are now
+slowly, and with pains, recalling from banishment?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[103]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>To discover one's own deliberate opinion upon a subject is not always
+easy&mdash;prophetic opinions one must refuse to offer. But I feel no doubt
+whatever that the good lady who shall coddle this little garden at
+some distant date after me will be quite as fond of her borders as I
+am of mine; and I suspect that these will be about as like each other
+as our respective best bonnets.</p>
+
+<p>The annals of Fashion must always be full of funny stories. I know two
+of the best amateur gardeners of the day; they are father and son. The
+father, living <i>and gardening</i> still (he sent me a specimen lily
+lately by parcel post, and is beholden to no one for help, either with
+packing or addressing, in his constant use of this new convenience),
+is making good way between ninety and a hundred years of age. What we
+call old-fashioned flowers were the pets of his youth. About the time
+when ribbon-bordering "came in," he changed his residence, and, in the
+garden where he had cultivated countless kinds of perennials, his son
+reigned in his stead. The horticultural taste proved hereditary, but
+in the younger man it took the impress of the fashion of his day. Away
+went the "herbaceous stuff" on to rubbish heaps, and the borders were
+soon gay with geraniums, and kaleidoscopic with calceolarias. But "the
+whirligig of Time brings in his revenges," and, perhaps, a real love
+for flowers could never, in the nature<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[104]</a></span> of things, have been finally
+satisfied by the dozen or by the score; so it came to pass that the
+garden is once more herbaceous, and far-famed as such. The father&mdash;a
+<i>perennial</i> gardener in more senses than one, long may he
+flourish!&mdash;has told me, chuckling, of many a penitential pilgrimage to
+the rubbish-heaps, if haply fragments could be found of the herbaceous
+treasures which had been so rashly cast away.</p>
+
+<p>Doubtless there were many restorations. Abandoned "bedding stuff" soon
+perishes, but uprooted clumps of "herbaceous stuff" linger long in
+shady corners, and will sometimes flower pathetically on the heap
+where they have been thrown to rot.</p>
+
+<p>I once saw a fine "Queen Anne" country house&mdash;an old one; not a modern
+imitation. Chippendale had made the furniture. He had worked in the
+house. Whether the chairs and tables were beautiful or not is a matter
+of taste, but they were well made and seasoned; so, like the
+herbaceous stuff, they were hardy. The next generation decided that
+they were ugly. New chairs and tables were bought, and the Chippendale
+"stuff" was sent up into the maids' bedrooms, and down to the men's.
+It drifted into the farmhouses and cottages on the estate. No doubt, a
+good deal was destroyed. The caprices of fashion are not confined to
+one class, and the lower classes are the more prodigal and
+destructive. I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[105]</a></span> have seen the remains of Elizabethan bedsteads under
+hayricks, and untold "old oak" has fed the cottage fire. I once asked
+a village maiden why the people made firewood of carved armchairs,
+when painted pinewood, upholstered in American cloth, is, if lovelier,
+not so lasting. Her reply was&mdash;"They get stalled on<a name="FNanchor_3_3" id="FNanchor_3_3"></a><a href="#Footnote_3_3" class="fnanchor">[3]</a> 'em." And she
+added: "Maybe a man 'll look at an old arm chair that's stood on t'
+hearth-place as long as he can remember, and he'll say&mdash;'I'm fair sick
+o' t' seet o' <i>yon</i>. We mun have a new 'un for t' Feast. <i>I'l chop
+thee oop!</i>'"</p>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_3_3" id="Footnote_3_3"></a><a href="#FNanchor_3_3"><span class="label">[3]</span></a> "Stalled on"&mdash;tired of. "T' feast"&mdash;the village feast, an
+annual festival and fair, for which most houses in that district are
+cleaned within and whitewashed without.</p></div>
+
+<p>Possibly some of the Chippendale chairs also fell to the hatchet and
+fed the flames, but most of them bore neglect as well as hardy
+perennials, and when Queen Anne houses and "Old Chips" came into
+fashion again, there was routing and rummaging from attic to cellar,
+in farmhouse and cottage, and the banished furniture went triumphantly
+back to its own place.</p>
+
+<p>I first saw single dahlias in some "little gardens" in Cheshire, five
+or six years ago. No others had ever been cultivated there. In these
+quiet nooks the double dahlia was still a new-fangled flower. If the
+single dahlias yet hold their own, those little gardens must now find
+themselves in the height of the floral fashion, with the unusual luck
+of the conservative old <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[106]</a></span>woman who "wore her bonnet till the fashions
+came round again."</p>
+
+<p>It is such little gardens which have kept for us the Blue Primrose, the
+highly fragrant Summer Roses (including Rose de Meaux, and the red and
+copper Briar), countless beautiful varieties of Daffy-down-dillies, and
+all the host of sweet, various and hardy flowers which are now
+returning, like the Chippendale chairs, from the village to the hall.</p>
+
+<p>It is still in cottage gardens chiefly that the Crown Imperial hangs
+its royal head. One may buy small sheaves of it in the Taunton
+market-place on early summer Saturdays. What a stately flower it is!
+and, in the paler variety of what an exquisite yellow! I always fancy
+<i>Fritillaria Imperialis flava</i> to be dressed in silk from the Flowery
+Land&mdash;that robe of imperial yellow which only General Gordon and the
+blood royal of China are entitled to wear!</p>
+
+<p>"All is fine that is fit." And is the "bedding-out"
+system&mdash;Ribbon-gardening&mdash;ever fit, and therefore ever fine? My little
+friend, I am inclined to think that it sometimes is. For long straight
+borders in parks and public promenades, for some terrace gardens on a
+large scale, viewed perhaps from windows at a considerable distance,
+and in a general way for pleasure grounds, ordered by professional
+skill, and not by an <i>amateur</i> gardener (which, mark you, being
+interpreted, is gardener <i>for love!</i>), the bedding-out style<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[107]</a></span> is good
+for general effect, and I think it is capable of prettier ingenuities
+than one often sees employed in its use. I think that, if I ever
+gardened in this expensive and mechanical style, I should make
+"arrangements," &agrave; la Whistler, with flowers of various shades of the
+same color. But harmony and gradation of color always give me more
+pleasure than contrast.</p>
+
+<p>Then, besides the fitness of the gardening to the garden, there is the
+fitness of the garden to its owner; and the owner must be considered
+from two points of view, his taste and his means. Indeed, I think it
+would be fair to add a third, his leisure.</p>
+
+<p>Now, there are owners of big gardens and little gardens, who like to
+have a garden (what Englishman does not?) and like to see it gay and
+tidy, but who don't know one flower from the rest. On the other hand,
+some scientists are acquainted with botany and learned in
+horticulture. They know every plant and its value, but they care
+little about tidiness. Cut flowers are feminine frivolities in their
+eyes, and they count nosegays as childish gauds, like daisy chains and
+cowslip balls. They are not curious in colors, and do not know which
+flowers are fragrant and which are scentless. For them every garden is
+a botanical garden. Then, many persons fully appreciate the beauty and
+the scent of flowers, and enjoy selecting and arranging them for a
+room, who can't abide to handle a fork or meddle with mother earth.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[108]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Others again, amongst whom I number myself, love not only the lore of
+flowers, and the sight of them, and the fragrance of them, and the
+growing of them, and the picking of them, and the arranging of them,
+but also inherit from Father Adam a natural relish for tilling the
+ground from whence they were taken and to which they shall return.</p>
+
+<p>With little persons in little gardens, having also little strength and
+little leisure, this husbandry may not exceed the small uses of fork
+and trowel, but the earth-love is there, all the same. I remember
+once, coming among some family papers, upon an old letter from my
+grandmother to my grandfather. She was a clever girl (she did not
+outlive her youth), and the letter was natural and full of energy and
+point. My grandfather seems to have apologized to his bride for the
+disorderly state of the garden to which she was about to go home, and
+in reply she quaintly and vehemently congratulates herself upon this
+unpromising fact. For&mdash;&mdash;"I do so dearly love <i>grubbing</i>." This
+touches another point. She was a botanist, and painted a little. So
+were most of the lady gardeners of her youth. The education of women
+was, as a rule, poor enough in those days; but a study of "the Linnean
+system" was among the elegant accomplishments held to "become a young
+woman;" and one may feel pretty sure that even a smattering of
+botanical knowledge, and the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[109]</a></span> observation needed for third or
+fourth-rate flower-painting, would tend to a love of variety in beds
+and borders which Ribbon-gardening would by no means satisfy. <i>Lobelia
+erinus speciosa</i> does make a wonderfully smooth blue stripe in
+sufficient quantities, but that would not console any one who knew or
+had painted <i>Lobelia cardinalis</i>, and <i>fulgens</i> for the banishment of
+these from the garden.</p>
+
+<p>I think we may dismiss Ribbon-gardening as unfit for a botanist, or
+for any one who happens to like <i>grubbing</i>, or tending his flowers.</p>
+
+<p>Is it ever "fit" in a little garden?</p>
+
+<p>Well, if the owner has either no taste for gardening, or no time, it
+may be the shortest and brightest plan to get some nurseryman near to
+fill the little beds and borders with spring bedding plants for spring
+(and let me note that this <i>spring bedding</i>, which is of later date
+than the first rage for ribbon-borders, had to draw its supplies very
+largely from "herbaceous stuff" <i>myosotis</i>, <i>viola</i>, <i>aubretia</i>,
+<i>iberis</i>, &amp;c., and may have paved the way for the return of hardy
+perennials into favor), and with Tom Thumb Geranium, Blue Lobelia, and
+Yellow Calceolaria for the summer and autumn. These latter are most
+charming plants. They are very gay and persistent whilst they last,
+and it is not their fault that they cannot stand our winters. They are
+no invalids till frost comes. With my personal predilections, I like<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[110]</a></span>
+even "bedding stuff" best in variety. The varieties of what we call
+geraniums are many and most beautiful. I should always prefer a group
+of individual specimens to a band of one. And never have I seen the
+canary yellow of calceolarias to such advantage as in an
+"old-fashioned" rectory-garden in Yorkshire, where they were cunningly
+used as points of brilliancy at corners of beds mostly filled with
+"hardy herbaceous stuff."</p>
+
+<p>But there, again, one begins to spend time and taste! Let us admit
+that, if a little garden must be made gay by the neighboring
+nurseryman, it will look very bright, on the "ribbon" system, at a
+minimum cost of time and trouble&mdash;<i>but not of money!</i></p>
+
+<p>Even for a little garden, bedding plants are very expensive. For you
+must either use plenty, or leave it alone. A ragged ribbon-border can
+have no admirers.</p>
+
+<p>If time and money are both lacking, and horticulture is not a hobby,
+divide what sum you are prepared to spend on your little garden in
+two. Lay out half in making good soil, and spend the rest on a limited
+range of hardy plants. If mother earth is well fed, and if you have
+got her <i>deep down</i>, and not a surface layer of half a foot on a
+substratum of builder's rubbish, she will take care of every plant you
+commit to her hold. I should give up the back of the borders (if the
+aspect is east or south) to a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[111]</a></span> few very good "perpetual" roses to cut
+from; dwarfs, not standards; and for the line of color in front it
+will be no great trouble to arrange roughly to have red, white, blue,
+and yellow alternately.</p>
+
+<p>One of the best cheap bedders is Pink Catchfly (<i>Silene pendula</i>). Its
+rosy cushions are as neat and as lasting as Blue Lobelia. It is a
+hardy annual, but the plants should be autumn sown of the year before.
+It flowers early and long, and its place might be taken for the autumn
+by scarlet dwarf nasturtiums, or clumps of geranium. Pink Catchfly,
+Blue Forget-me-not, White Arabis, and Yellow Viola would make gay any
+spring border. Then to show, to last, and to cut from, few flowers
+rival the self-colored pansies (Viola class). Blue, white, purple, and
+yellow alternately, they are charming, and if in good soil,
+well-watered in drought, and constantly cut from, they bloom the whole
+summer long. And some of them are very fragrant. The secret of success
+with these is never to leave a flower to go to seed. They are not cut
+off by autumnal frosts. On the contrary, you can take them up, and
+divide, and reset, and send a portion to other little gardens where
+they are lacking.</p>
+
+<p>All mine (and they have been very gay this year and very sweet) I owe
+to the bounty of friends who garden <i>non sibi sed toti</i>.</p>
+
+<p>Lastly, if there is even a very little taste and time<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[112]</a></span> to spare,
+surely nothing can be so satisfactory as a garden full of such flowers
+as (in the words of John Parkinson) "our English ayre will permitt to
+be noursed up." Bearing in mind these counsels:</p>
+
+<p>Make a wise selection of hardy plants. Grow only good sorts, and of
+these choose what suit your soil and climate. Give them space and good
+feeding. Disturb the roots as little as possible, and cut the flowers
+constantly. Then they will be fine as well as fit.</p>
+
+<p class="f4">Good-bye, Little Friend,</p>
+
+<p class="f2">Yours, &amp;c.</p>
+
+<hr style='width: 45%;' />
+
+<h3>LETTER II.</h3>
+<div class="blockquot"><p>"The tropics may have their delights; but they have not turf, and
+the world without turf is a dreary desert. The original Garden of
+Eden could not have had such turf as one sees in England.</p>
+
+<hr style='width: 25%;' />
+
+<p>"Woman always did, from the first, make a muss in a garden.</p>
+
+<hr style='width: 25%;' />
+
+<p>"Nevertheless, what a man needs in gardening is a cast-iron back,
+with a hinge in it."</p>
+
+<p class="f1">&mdash;<i>Pusley; or, My Summer in a Garden</i>.&mdash;<span class="smcap">C. D. Warner</span>.</p>
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Dear Little Friend</span>,</p>
+
+<p>Do you know the little book from which these sayings are quoted? It is
+one you can laugh over by<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[113]</a></span> yourself, again and again. A very good
+specimen of that curious, new-world kind of wit&mdash;American humor; and
+also full of the truest sense of natural beauty and of gardening
+delights.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Warner is not complimentary to woman's work in the garden, though
+he displays all the graceful deference of his countrymen to the weaker
+sex. In the charming dedication to his wife, whilst desiring "to
+acknowledge an influence which has lent half the charm to my labor,"
+he adds: "If I were in a court of justice, or injustice, under oath, I
+should not like to say that, either in the wooing days of spring, or
+under the suns of the summer solstice, you had been, either with hoe,
+rake, or miniature spade, of the least use in the garden." Perhaps our
+fair cousins on the other side of the Atlantic do not <i>grub</i> so
+energetically as we do. Certainly, with us it is very common for the
+ladies of the family to be the practical gardeners, the master of the
+house caring chiefly for a good general effect, with tidy walks and
+grassplots, and displaying less of that almost maternal solicitude
+which does bring flowers to perfection.</p>
+
+<p>I have sometimes thought that it would be a good division of labor in
+a Little Garden, if, where Joan coddles the roses and rears the
+seedlings, Darby would devote some of his leisure to the walks and
+grassplots.</p>
+
+<p>Few things in one's garden are pleasanter to one's<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[114]</a></span> own eye, or gain
+more admiration from others, than well-kept turf. Green grass is one
+of the charms of the British Isles, which are emerald isles
+throughout, though Ireland is so <i>par excellence</i>. It is so much a
+matter of course to us that we hardly realize this till we hear or
+read what foreigners say about it, and also our own American and
+colonial cousins. We go abroad and revel in real sunshine, and come
+home with glowing memories to abuse our own cloudy skies; but they
+come from burnt-up landscapes to refresh their eyes with our perpetual
+green.</p>
+
+<p>Even a little grassplot well repays pains and care. If you have to
+make it, never use cheap seed. Buy the very best from seedsmen of
+repute, or you will get a conglomeration of weeds instead of a
+green-sward of fine grasses and white clover. Trench the ground to an
+<i>even</i> depth, tread it firm, and have light, finely-sifted soil
+uppermost. Sow thickly early in April, cover lightly, and protect from
+birds. If the soil is good, and the seed first-rate, your sward will
+be green the first season.</p>
+
+<p>Turfs make a lawn somewhat quicker than seed. The best are cut from
+the road-side, but it is a hateful despoiling of one of the fairest of
+travellers' joys. Those who commit this highway robbery should reckon
+themselves in honor bound to sow the bare places they leave behind.
+Some people cut the pieces eighteen inches square, some about a yard
+long and twelve<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[115]</a></span> inches wide. Cut thin, roll up like thin bread and
+butter. When they are laid down, fit close together, like bits of a
+puzzle, and roll well after laying. If they gape with shrinking, fill
+in between with finely sifted soil, and roll again and again.</p>
+
+<p>Strictly speaking, a grassplot should be all grass, grass and a little
+white clover. "Soldiers" (of the plaintain type) are not to be
+tolerated on a lawn, but I have a weak corner for dog-daisies. I once
+owned a little garden in Canada, but never a dog-daisy grew there. A
+lady I knew had one&mdash;in a pot&mdash;sent from "Home." But even if you have
+a sentimental fondness for "the pretty things" (as their botanical
+name signifies), and like to see their little white faces peeping out
+of the grass, this must not be carried too far. In some soils
+dog-daisies will soon devour the whole lawn.</p>
+
+<p>How are they, and "soldiers," and other weeds to be extirpated? There
+are many nostrums, but none so effectual as a patient digging up (with
+a long "daisy fork") of plant after plant <i>by the roots</i>. The whole
+family party and any chance visitors will not be too many for the
+work, and, if each laborer is provided with a cast-iron back with a
+hinge in it, so much the better. A writer in the <i>Garden</i> seems to
+have been very successful with salt, used early in the season and with
+great care. He says: "After the first cutting in the spring put as
+much salt on each weed, through<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[116]</a></span> the palm of the hand, as will
+distinctly cover it. In two or three days, depending on the weather,
+they will turn brown. Those weeds that have escaped can be distinctly
+seen, and the operation should be repeated. The weeds thus treated
+die, and in about three weeks the grass will have grown, and there
+will not be a vestige of disturbance left. Two years ago I converted a
+rough pasture into a tennis-ground for six courts. Naturally the turf
+was a mass of rough weeds. It took three days to salt them, and the
+result was curiously successful."</p>
+
+<p>Another prescription is to cut off the crowns of the offending plants,
+and dose them with a few drops of carbolic acid.</p>
+
+<p>Grass will only grow dense by constant cutting and moisture. The
+scythe works best when the grass is wet, and the machine when it is
+dry. Sweep it and roll it during the winter. Pick off stones, sticks,
+or anything that "has no business" on it, as you would pick "bits" off
+a carpet.</p>
+
+<p>If grass grows rank and coarse, a dressing of sand will improve it; if
+it is poor and easily burned up, give it a sprinkling of soot, or
+guano, or wood ashes (or all three mixed) before rain. "Slops" are as
+welcome to parched grass as to half-starved flowers. If the weather is
+hot and the soil light, it is well occasionally to leave the short
+clippings of one mowing upon the lawn to protect the roots.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[117]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>I do not know if it becomes unmanageable, but, in moderation, I think
+chamomile a very charming intruder on a lawn, and the aromatic scent
+which it yields to one's tread to be very grateful in the open air. It
+is pleasant, too, to have a knoll or a bank somewhere, where thyme can
+grow among the grass. But the subject of flowers that grow well
+through grass is a large one. It is one also on which the members of
+our Parkinson Society would do kindly to give us any exceptional
+experiences, especially in reference to flowers which not only
+flourish among grass, but do not resent being mown down. The lovely
+blue windflower (<i>Anemone Apennina</i>), is, I believe, one of these.</p>
+
+<p>There is no doubt that now and then plants prefer to meet with a
+little resistance, and despise a bed that is made too comfortable.
+Self-sown ones often come up much more vigorously through the hard
+path than when the seed has fallen within the border. The way to grow
+the parsley fern is said to be to clap a good big stone on his crown
+very early in the spring, and let him struggle out at all corners from
+underneath it. It is undoubtedly a comfort to rock-plants and creeping
+things to be planted with a stone over their feet to keep them cool!</p>
+
+<p>Which reminds me of stones for bordering. I think they make the best
+of all edgings for a Little Garden. Box-edgings are the prettiest, but
+they are<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[118]</a></span> expensive, require good keeping, and harbor slugs. For that
+matter, most things seem to harbor slugs in any but a very dry
+climate, and there are even more prescriptions for their destruction
+than that of lawn weeds. I don't think lime does much, nor soot. Wet
+soon slakes them. Thick slices of turnip are attractive. Slugs really
+do seem to like them, even better than one's favorite seedlings.
+Little heaps of bran also, and young lettuces. My slugs do not care
+for cabbage leaves, and they are very untidy. Put thick slices of
+turnip near your auriculas, favorite primroses and polyanthuses, and
+Christmas roses, and near anything tender and not well established,
+and overhaul them early in the morning. "You can't get up too early,
+if you have a garden," says Mr. Warner; and he adds: "Things appear to
+go on in the night in the garden uncommonly. It would be less trouble
+to stay up than it is to get up so early!"</p>
+
+<p>To return to stone edgings. When quite newly laid, like miniature
+rockwork, they are, perhaps, the least bit cockneyfied, and suggestive
+of something between oyster-shell borderings and mock ruins. But this
+effect very rapidly disappears as they bury themselves in cushions of
+pink catch-fly (v. <i>compacta</i>), or low-growing pinks, tiny campanulas,
+yellow viola, London pride, and the vast variety of rock-plants,
+"alpines," and low-growing "herbaceous stuff," which delight in
+squeezing up to a big cool stone that will<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[119]</a></span> keep a little moisture for
+their rootlets in hot summer weather. This is a much more interesting
+kind of edging than any one kind of plant can make, I think, and in a
+Little Garden it is like an additional border, leaving the other free
+for bigger plants. If one kind is preferred, for a light soil there is
+nothing like thrift. And the white thrift is very silvery and more
+beautiful than the pink. There is a large thrift, too, which is
+handsome. But I prefer stones, and I like varieties of color&mdash;bits of
+gray boulder, and red and yellow sandstone.</p>
+
+<p>I like warm color also on the walks. I should always have red walks if
+I could afford them. There is a red material, the result of some
+process of burning, which we used to get in the iron and coal
+districts of Yorkshire, which I used to think very pretty, but I do
+not know what it is called.</p>
+
+<p>Good walks are a great luxury. It is a wise economy to go round your
+walks after rain and look for little puddles; make a note of where the
+water lodges and fill it up. Keep gratings swept. If the grating is
+free and there is an overflow not to be accounted for, it is very
+possible that a drain-pipe somewhere is choke-full of the roots of
+some tree.</p>
+
+<p>Some people advise hacking up your walks from time to time, and other
+people advise you not. Some people say there is nothing like salt to
+destroy walk weeds and moss, and brighten the gravel, and some<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[120]</a></span> people
+say that salt in the long run feeds the ground and the weeds. I am
+disposed to think that, in a Little Garden, there is nothing like a
+weeding woman with an old knife and a little salt afterwards. It is
+also advisable to be your own weeding woman, that you may be sure that
+the weeds come up by the roots! Next to the cast-iron back before
+mentioned, I recommend a housemaid's kneeling mat (such as is used for
+scrubbing floors), as a gardener's comfort.</p>
+
+<p>I hope, if you have been bulb planting, that you got them all in by
+Lord Mayor's Day. Whether bulbs should be planted deep or shallow is
+another "vexed question." In a Little Garden, where you don't want to
+disturb them, and may like to plant out some small rooted annuals on
+the top of them later on, I should plant deep.</p>
+
+<p>If you are planting roses, remember that two or three, carefully
+planted in good stuff that goes deep, will pay you better than six
+times the number stuck <i>into a hole</i> in cold clay or sand or builders'
+rubbish, and left to push their rootlets as best they can, or perish
+in the attempt. Spread out these rootlets very tenderly when planting.
+You will reap the reward of your gentleness in flowers. Rose roots
+don't like being squeezed, like a Chinese lady's feet. I was taught
+this by one who knows,&mdash;He has a good name for the briar suckers and
+sprouts which I hope you carefully cut off from your grafted
+roses,&mdash;He calls it "the old Adam!"</p>
+
+<p class="f2">Yours, &amp;c.</p>
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[121]</a></span></p>
+
+
+<h3>LETTER III.</h3>
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">A good rule<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Is a good tool.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Dear Little Friend</span>,</p>
+
+<p>January is not a month in which you are likely to be doing much in
+your little garden. Possibly a wet blanket of snow lies thick and
+white over all its hopes and anxieties. No doubt you made all tidy,
+and some things warm, for the winter, in the delicious opportunities
+of S. Luke's and S. Martin's little summers, and, like the amusing
+American I told you of, "turned away writing <i>resurgam</i> on the
+gate-post."</p>
+
+<p>I write <i>resurgam</i> on labels, and put them wherever bulbs lie buried,
+or such herbaceous treasures as die down, and are, in consequence, too
+often treated as mere mortal remains of the departed, by the
+undiscriminating hand of the jobbing gardener.</p>
+
+<p>Winter is a good time to make plans, and to put them down in your
+Garden-book. Have you a Garden-book? A note-book, I mean, devoted to
+garden memoranda. It is a very useful kind of commonplace book, and
+soon becomes as fascinating as autumn and spring catalogues.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[122]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>One has to learn to manage even a Little Garden chiefly by experience,
+which is slow teaching, if sure. Books and gardeners are helpful; but,
+like other doctors, they differ. I think one is often slower to learn
+anything than one need be, from not making at once for first
+principles. If one knew more of these, it would be easier to apply
+one's own experience, and to decide amid conflicting advice.</p>
+
+<p>Here are a few rough and ready "first principles" for you.</p>
+
+<p><i>Hardy flowers in hedges and ditches are partly fed, and are also
+covered from cold and heat, and winds, and drought, by fallen leaves
+and refuse. Hardy flowers in gardens have all this tidied away from
+them, and, being left somewhat hungry and naked in proportion, are all
+the better for an occasional top-dressing and mulching, especially in
+autumn.</i> It is not absolutely necessary to turn a flower border upside
+down and dig it over every year. It may (for some years at any rate),
+if you find this more convenient, be treated on the hedge system, and
+<i>fed from the top</i>; thinning big clumps, pulling up weeds, moving and
+removing in detail.</p>
+
+<p><i>Concentrated strength means large blooms.</i> If a plant is ripening
+seed, some strength goes to that; if bursting into many blooms, some
+goes to each of them; if it is trying to hold up against blustering
+winds, or to thrive on exhausted ground, or to straighten out cramped
+and clogged roots, these struggles also demand<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[123]</a></span> strength. Moral: Plant
+carefully, support your tall plants, keep all your plants in easy
+circumstances, don't put them to the trouble of ripening seed (unless
+you specially want it). To this end cut off fading flowers, and also
+cut off buds in places where they would not show well when they came
+out, and all this economized strength will go into the blossoms that
+remain.</p>
+
+<p><i>You cannot grow everything. Grow what suits your soil and climate,
+and the best kinds of these, as well as you can.</i> You may make soil to
+suit a plant, but you cannot make the climate to suit it, and some
+flowers are more fastidious about the air they breathe than about the
+soil they feed upon. There are, however, scores of sturdy, handsome
+flowers, as hardy as highlanders, which will thrive in almost any
+soil, and under all the variations of climate of the British Isles.
+Some will even endure the smoke-laden atmosphere of towns and town
+suburbs; which, sooner or later, is certain death to so many. It is a
+pity that small florists and greengrocers in London do not know more
+about this; and it would be a great act of kindness to them and to
+their customers to instruct them. Then, instead of encouraging the
+ruthless slaughter of primroses, scores and hundreds of plants of
+which are torn up and then sold in a smoky atmosphere to which they
+never adapt themselves, these small shopkeepers might offer plants of
+the many beautiful varieties<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[124]</a></span> of poppies, from the grand <i>Orientalis</i>
+onwards, chrysanthemums, stocks, wall-flowers, Canterbury bells,
+salvias, &oelig;notheras, snapdragons, perennial lobelias, iris, and
+other plants which are known to be very patient under a long course of
+soot. Most of the hardy California annuals bear town life well.
+Perhaps because they have only to bear it for a year. <i>Convolvulus
+major</i>&mdash;the Morning Glory, as our American cousins so prettily call
+it&mdash;flourishes on a smutty wall as generously as the Virginian
+creeper.</p>
+
+<p><i>North borders are safest in winter.</i> They are free from the dangerous
+alternation of sunshine and frost. Put things of doubtful hardihood
+under a north wall, with plenty of sandy soil or ashes over their
+roots, some cinders on that, and perhaps a little light protection,
+like bracken, in front of them, and their chances will not be bad.
+Apropos to tender things, if your little garden is in a cold part of
+the British Isles, and has ungenial conditions of soil and aspect,
+don't try to keep tender things out of doors in winter; but, if it is
+in the south or west of the British Isles, I should be tempted to very
+wide experiments with lots of plants not commonly reckoned "hardy."
+Where laurels flower freely you will probably be successful eight
+years out of ten. Most fuchsias, and tender things which die down, may
+be kept.</p>
+
+<p><i>Very little will keep Jack Frost out, if he has not yet been in</i>,
+either in the garden or the house. A "hot<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[125]</a></span> bottle" will keep frost out
+of a small room where one has stored geraniums, &amp;c., so will a small
+paraffin lamp (which&mdash;N. B.&mdash;will also keep water-pipes from
+catastrophe). How I have toiled, in my young days, with these same hot
+water bottles in a cupboard off the nursery, which was my nearest
+approach to a greenhouse! And how sadly I have experienced that where
+Mr. Frost goes out Mr. Mould is apt to slink in! Truly, as Mr. Warner
+says, "the gardener needs all the consolations of a high philosophy!"</p>
+
+<p>It is a great satisfaction if things <i>will</i> live out of doors. And in
+a <i>little</i> garden a good deal of coddling may be done. I am going to
+get some round fruit hampers to turn over certain tender pets this
+winter. When one has one's flowers by the specimen and not by the
+score, such cossetting is possible. Ashes and cinders are excellent
+protection for the roots, and for plants&mdash;like roses&mdash;which do not die
+back to the earth level, and which sometimes require a screen as well
+as a quilt; bracken, fir branches, a few pea sticks, and matting or
+straw are all handy helps. The old gentleman who ran out&mdash;without his
+dressing gown&mdash;to fling his own bed-quilt over some plants endangered
+by an unexpected frost, came very near to having a fine show of bloom
+and not being there to see it; but, short of this excessive zeal, when
+one's garden is a little one, and close to one's threshold, one may
+catch Jack Frost on the surface of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[126]</a></span> many bits of rough and ready
+fencing on very cold nights.</p>
+
+<p><i>In drought, one good soaking with tepid water is worth six
+sprinklings.</i> Watering is very fatiguing, but it is unskilled labor,
+and one ought to be able to hire strong arms to do it at a small rate.
+But I never met the hired person yet who could be persuaded that it
+was needful to do more than make the surface of the ground look as if
+it had been raining.</p>
+
+<p>There is a "first principle" of which some gardeners are very fond,
+but in which I do not believe, that if you begin to water you must go
+on, and that too few waterings do harm. What I don't believe is that
+they do harm, nor did I ever meet with a gardener who complained of an
+odd shower, even if the skies did not follow it up. An odd sprinkling
+does next to no good, but an odd soaking may save the lives of your
+plants. In very hot weather don't grudge a few waterings to your
+polyanthuses and primroses. If they are planted in open sunny borders
+with no shade or hedge-mulching, they suffer greatly from drought.</p>
+
+<p><i>Flowers, like human beings, are, to some extent, creatures of habit.</i>
+They get used to many things which they can't at all abide once in a
+way. If your little garden (like mine) is part of a wandering
+establishment, here to-day and there to-morrow, you may get even your
+roses into very good habits of moving good<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[127]</a></span> humoredly, and making
+themselves quickly at home. If plants from the first are accustomed to
+being moved about,&mdash;every year, or two years,&mdash;they do not greatly
+resent it. A real "old resident," who has pushed his rootlets far and
+wide, and never tried any other soil or aspect, is very slow to settle
+elsewhere, even if he does not die of <i>nostalgia</i> and nervous shock!
+In making cuttings, consider the habits and customs of the parent
+plant. If it has been grown in heat, the cuttings will require heat to
+start them. And so on, as to dry soil or moist, &amp;c. If somebody gives
+you "a root" in hot weather, or a bad time for moving, when you have
+made your hole pour water in very freely. Saturate the ground below,
+"puddle in" your plants with plenty more, and you will probably save
+it, especially if you turn a pot or basket over it in the heat of the
+day. In warm weather plant in the evening, the new-comers then have a
+round of the clock in dews and restfulness before the sun is fierce
+enough to make them flag. In cold weather move to the morning, and for
+the same period they will be safe from possible frost. Little, if any,
+watering is needed for late autumn plantings.</p>
+
+<p><i>Those parts of a plant which are not accustomed to exposure are those
+which suffer from it.</i> You may garden bare-handed in a cold wind and
+not be the worse for it, but, if both your arms were bared to the
+shoulders, the consequences would probably be<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[128]</a></span> very different. A
+bundle of rose-trees or shrubs will bear a good deal on their leaves
+and branches, but for every moment you leave their roots exposed to
+drying and chilling blasts they suffer. When a plant is out of the
+ground, protect its crown and its roots at once. If a plant is moved
+quickly, it is advantageous, of course, to take it up with as much
+earth as possible, if the roots remain undisturbed in their little
+plat. Otherwise, earth is no better than any other protection; and in
+sending plants by post, &amp;c. (when soil weighs very heavily), it is
+better to wash every bit of soil out of the roots, and then thoroughly
+wrap them in moss, and outside that in hay or tow, or cotton wool.
+Then, if the roots are comfortably spread in nice mould at the other
+end of the journey, all should go well.</p>
+
+<p>I reserve a sneaking credulity about "lucky-fingers." Or rather, I
+should say, a belief that some people have a strange power (or tact)
+in dealing with the vegetable world, as others have in controlling and
+coaxing animals.</p>
+
+<p>It is a vivid memory of my childhood that (amongst the box-edged
+gardens of a family of eight), that of my eldest brother was almost
+inconvenienced by the luck of his fingers. "Survival of the fittest"
+(if hardiest does mean fittest!) kept the others within bounds; but
+what he begged, borrowed, and stole, survived, all of it, conglomerate
+around the "double<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[129]</a></span> velvet" rose, which formed the centrepiece. We
+used to say that when the top layer was pared off, a buried crop came
+up.</p>
+
+<p>An old friend with lucky fingers visited my Little Garden this autumn.
+He wanders all over the world, and has no garden of his own except
+window-boxes in London, where he seems to grow what he pleases. He is
+constantly doing kindnesses, and likes to do them his own way. He
+christened a border (out of which I had not then turned the builders'
+rubbish) Desolation Border, with more candor than compliment. He said
+it wanted flowers, and he meant to sow some. I suggested that, sown at
+that period of the summer, they would not flower this season. He said
+they would. (They did.) None of my suggestions met with favor, so I
+became gratefully passive, and watched the lucky fingers from a
+distance, fluttering small papers, and making mystic deposits here and
+there, through the length and breadth of the garden. I only begged him
+to avoid my labels. The seeds he sowed ranged from three (rather old)
+seeds of bottle gourd to a packet of mixed Virginian stock. They all
+came up. He said, "I shall put them in where I think it is desirable,
+and when they come up you'll see where they are." I did.</p>
+
+<p>For some days after his departure, on other country visits, I received
+plants by post. Not in tins, or boxes, but in envelopes with little or
+no packing. In<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[130]</a></span> this way came sea lavender in full bloom, crimson
+monkey plant from the London window box, and cuttings of
+mesembryanthemum. They are all alive and thriving.</p>
+
+<p>The bottle gourd and the annuals have had their day, and it is over;
+but in the most unexpected places there still rise, like ghosts,
+certain plants which completely puzzle me.<a name="FNanchor_4_4" id="FNanchor_4_4"></a><a href="#Footnote_4_4" class="fnanchor">[4]</a> They have not blossomed,
+but they grow on in spite of frost. Some of them are nearly as tall as
+myself. They almost alarm me when I am dividing violas, and trifling
+with Alpines. They stand over me (without sticks) and seem to say, "We
+are up, you see where we are! We shall grow as long as we think it
+desirable."</p>
+
+<p class="f1">Farewell for the present, Little Friend,</p>
+
+<p class="f2">Yours, &amp;c.</p>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_4_4" id="Footnote_4_4"></a><a href="#FNanchor_4_4"><span class="label">[4]</span></a> When fully grown these plants proved to be the
+Tree-Mallow, <i>Lavatera arborea</i>, the seeds were gathered from
+specimens on the shores of the Mediterranean.</p></div>
+
+
+<h3>LETTER IV.</h3>
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">When Candlemas Day is come and gone,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The snow lies on a hot stone.&mdash;<i>Old Saw.</i><br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Dear Little Friend</span>,</p>
+
+<p>Among all the changes and chances of human life which go to make up
+fiction as well as fact, there is <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[131]</a></span>one change which has never chanced
+to any man; and yet the idea has been found so fascinating by all men
+that it appears in the literature of every country. Most other fancied
+transformations are recorded as facts somewhere in the history of our
+race. Poor men have become rich, the beggar has sat among princes, the
+sick have been made whole, the dead have been raised, the neglected
+man has awoke to find himself famous, rough and kindly beasts have
+been charmed by lovely ladies into very passable Princes, and it would
+be hard to say that the ugly have not seen themselves beautiful in the
+mirror of friendly eyes; but the old have never become young. The
+elixir of youth has intoxicated the imagination of many, but no drop
+of it has ever passed human lips.</p>
+
+<p>If we ever do just taste anything of the vital, hopeful rapture, the
+elastic delight of the old man of a fairy tale, who leaves his cares,
+his crutches, and his chimney-corner, to go forth again young amongst
+the young,&mdash;it is when the winter is ended and the spring is come.
+Some people may feel this rising of the sap of life within them more
+than others, but there are probably very few persons whom the first
+mild airs and bursting buds and pushing flower-crowns do not slightly
+intoxicate with a sort of triumphant pleasure.</p>
+
+<p>What then, dear little friend, must be the February feelings of the
+owner of a Little Garden? Knowing,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[132]</a></span> as we do, every plant and its
+place,&mdash;having taken just pride in its summer bloom,&mdash;having preserved
+this by cares and trimmings and proppings to a picturesque and florid
+autumn, though wild flowers have long been shrivelled and
+shapeless,&mdash;having tidied it up and put a little something comforting
+round it when bloom and outline were absolutely no more: what must we
+feel when we first detect the ruddy young shoots of our favorite
+peonies, or perceive that the brown old hepaticas have become green
+and young again and are full of flower-buds?</p>
+
+<p>The process of strolling, with bent back and peering eyes, by the side
+of the still frosty borders is so deeply interesting, and a very
+little sunshine on a broad band of crocuses has such a summer-like
+effect, that one is apt to forget that it is one of the cheapest ways
+of catching cold. The last days of the gardening year not unfrequently
+lead from the flower-bed to the sick-bed. But though there is for
+susceptible folk a noxious influence in the decaying vegetation of
+autumn, from which spring is free, there is bitter treachery in many a
+spring wind, and the damp of the ground seems to reek with the exuding
+chill of all the frosts that have bound it in mid-winter.</p>
+
+<p>I often wonder that, for some exigencies of weather, outdoor
+red-flannel knickerbockers which one wears in Canada are not more in
+use here. The very small children have all their clothes stuffed into
+them, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[133]</a></span> tumble safely about in the snow like little Dutchmen. Older
+wearers of petticoats cram all in except the outermost skirt. It is a
+very simple garment made of three pieces,&mdash;two (straight) legs and a
+large square. The square is folded like a kerchief, and the leg pieces
+attached to the two sloping sides. A broad elastic and small openings
+on each side and at the top enable these very baggy knickerbockers to
+be easily pulled on for going out (where they effectually exclude cold
+exhalations from snow or damp ground), and pulled off on coming in.</p>
+
+<p>Short of such coddling as this, I strongly urge fleecy cork socks
+inside your garden boots; and I may add that if you've never tried
+them, you can have no idea of the warmth and comfort of a pair of
+boy's common yellow-leather leggings, but the buttons will require
+some adjusting.</p>
+
+<p>Of course, very robust gardeners are independent of these troublesome
+considerations; but the gardening members of a family, whether young
+or old, are very often not those vigorous people who can enjoy their
+fresh air at unlimited tennis or a real good stretching walk over the
+hills. They are oftener those weaker vessels who have to be content
+with strolls, and drives, and sketching, and "pottering about the
+garden."</p>
+
+<p>Now, pottering about the garden in spring and autumn has many risks
+for feeble vitalities, and yet these<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[134]</a></span> are just the seasons when
+everything requires doing, and there is a good hour's work in every
+yard of a pet border any day. So <i>verbum sap</i>. One has to "pay with
+one's person" for most of one's pleasures, if one is delicate; but it
+is possible to do a great deal of equinoctial grubbing with safety and
+even benefit, if one is very warmly protected, especially about the
+feet and legs. These details are very tedious for young people, but
+not so tedious as being kept indoors by a cold.</p>
+
+<p>And not only must delicate gardeners be cossetted with little
+advantages at these uncertain seasons, the less robust of the flowers
+gain equally by timely care. Jack Frost comes and goes, and leaves
+many plants (especially those planted the previous autumn) half jumped
+out of the ground. Look out for this, and tread them firmly in again.
+A shovel-full of cinder-siftings is a most timely attention round the
+young shoots of such as are poking up their noses a little too early,
+and seem likely to get them frost-bitten. Most alpines and low-growing
+stuff will bear light rolling after the frost has unsettled them. This
+is done in large gardens, but in a Little Garden they can be attended
+to individually. Give a little protection to what is too forward in
+growth, or badly placed, or of doubtful hardihood, or newly planted.
+Roses and hardy perennials can be planted in open weather.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[135]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>But you will not really be very busy outside till March, and we are
+not concerning ourselves with what has to be done "in heat," where a
+good deal is going on.</p>
+
+<p>Still, in mild climates or seasons (and one must always remember how
+greatly the British Isles vary in parts, as to climate), the idea of
+seedlings and cuttings will begin to stir our souls, when February
+"fills dike," if it is "with black and not with white," <i>i. e.</i>, with
+rain and not snow. So I will just say that for a Little Garden, and a
+mixed garden, demanding patches, not scores of things, you can raise a
+wonderfully sufficient number of half-hardy things in an ordinary
+room, with one or two bell-glasses to give the moist atmosphere in
+which sitting-rooms are wanting. A common tumbler will cover a dozen
+"seedlings," and there you have two nice little clumps of half a dozen
+plants each, when they are put out. (And mind you leave them space to
+spread.) A lot of little cuttings can be rooted in wet sand.
+Hardwooded cuttings may grow along slowly in cool places; little juicy
+soft ones need warmth, damp, and quick pushing forward. The very tips
+of fuchsias grow very easily struck early in wet sand, and will flower
+the same year. Kind friends will give you these, and if they will also
+give you "tips" of white, yellow, and blue Marguerites (this last is
+<i>Agathea celestis</i>), these strike as easily as chrysanthemums,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[136]</a></span> and
+are delightful afterwards to cut from. They are not very tender,
+though not quite hardy.</p>
+
+<p>For the few pots and pans and boxes of cuttings and seedlings which
+you require, it is well worth while to get a small stock of good
+compost from a nursery gardener; leaf mould, peat, and sand, whether
+for seedlings or cuttings. Always <i>sink</i> your pot in a second
+covering. Either have your pots sunk in a box of sand, which you can
+keep damp, or have small pots sunk in larger ones. A <i>great coat</i> to
+prevent evaporation, in some shape, is invaluable.</p>
+
+<p class="f4">Yours, &amp;c.,</p>
+
+<p class="f2">J. H. E.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[137]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="SNAP-DRAGONS" id="SNAP-DRAGONS"></a>SNAP-DRAGONS.</h2>
+
+<h3>A TALE OF CHRISTMAS EVE.</h3>
+<h3><span class="smcap">Mr. and Mrs. Skratdj.</span></h3>
+<p>Once upon a time there lived a certain family of the name of Skratdj.
+(It has a Russian or Polish look, and yet they most certainly lived in
+England.) They were remarkable for the following peculiarity. They
+seldom seriously quarrelled, but they never agreed about anything. It
+is hard to say whether it were more painful for their friends to hear
+them constantly contradicting each other, or gratifying to discover
+that it "meant nothing," and was "only their way."</p>
+
+<p>It began with the father and mother. They were a worthy couple, and
+really attached to each other. They had a habit of contradicting each
+other's statements, and opposing each other's opinions, which, though
+mutually understood and allowed for in private, was most trying to the
+by-standers in public. If one related an anecdote, the other would
+break in with half-a-dozen corrections of trivial details of no
+interest or importance to anyone, the speakers included.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[138]</a></span> For
+instance: Suppose the two dining in a strange house, and Mrs. Skratdj
+seated by the host, and contributing to the small-talk of the
+dinner-table. Thus:&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Oh yes. Very changeable weather indeed. It looked quite promising
+yesterday morning in the town, but it began to rain at noon."</p>
+
+<p>"A quarter past eleven, my dear," Mr. Skratdj's voice would be heard
+to say from several chairs down, in the corrective tones of a husband
+and father; "and really, my dear, so far from being a promising
+morning, I must say it looked about as threatening as it well could.
+Your memory is not always accurate in small matters, my love."</p>
+
+<p>But Mrs. Skratdj had not been a wife and a mother for fifteen years,
+to be snuffed out at one snap of the marital snuffers. As Mr. Skratdj
+leaned forward in his chair, she leaned forward in hers, and defended
+herself across the intervening couples.</p>
+
+<p>"Why, my dear Mr. Skratdj, you said yourself the weather had not been
+so promising for a week."</p>
+
+<p>"What I said, my dear, pardon me, was that the barometer was higher
+than it had been for a week. But, as you might have observed if these
+details were in your line, my love, which they are not, the rise was
+extraordinarily rapid, and there is no surer sign of unsettled
+weather.&mdash;But Mrs. Skratdj is apt to forget these unimportant
+trifles," he added, with<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[139]</a></span> a comprehensive smile round the
+dinner-table; "her thoughts are very properly absorbed by the more
+important domestic questions of the nursery."</p>
+
+<p>"Now I think that's rather unfair on Mr. Skratdj's part," Mrs. Skratdj
+would chirp, with a smile quite as affable and as general as her
+husband's. "I'm sure he's <i>quite</i> as forgetful and inaccurate as <i>I</i>
+am. And I don't think <i>my</i> memory is at <i>all</i> a bad one."</p>
+
+<p>"You forgot the dinner hour when we were going out to dine last week,
+nevertheless," said Mr. Skratdj.</p>
+
+<p>"And you couldn't help me when I asked you," was the sprightly retort.
+"And I'm sure it's not like you to forget anything about <i>dinner</i>, my
+dear."</p>
+
+<p>"The letter was addressed to you," said Mr. Skratdj.</p>
+
+<p>"I sent it to you by Jemima," said Mrs. Skratdj.</p>
+
+<p>"I didn't read it," said Mr. Skratdj.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, you burnt it," said Mrs. Skratdj; "and, as I always say,
+there's nothing more foolish than burning a letter of invitation
+before the day, for one is certain to forget."</p>
+
+<p>"I've no doubt you always do say it," Mr. Skratdj remarked with a
+smile, "but I certainly never remember to have heard the observation
+from your lips, my love."</p>
+
+<p>"Whose memory's in fault there?" asked Mrs. Skratdj triumphantly; and
+as at this point the ladies rose, Mrs. Skratdj had the last word.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[140]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Indeed, as may be gathered from this conversation, Mrs. Skratdj was
+quite able to defend herself. When she was yet a bride, and young and
+timid, she used to collapse when Mr. Skratdj contradicted her
+statements, and set her stories straight in public. Then she hardly
+ever opened her lips without disappearing under the domestic
+extinguisher. But in the course of fifteen years she had learned that
+Mr. Skratdj's bark was a great deal worse than his bite. (If, indeed,
+he had a bite at all.) Thus snubs that made other people's ears
+tingle, had no effect whatever on the lady to whom they were
+addressed, for she knew exactly what they were worth, and had by this
+time become fairly adept at snapping in return. In the days when she
+succumbed she was occasionally unhappy, but now she and her husband
+understood each other, and having agreed to differ, they unfortunately
+agreed also to differ in public.</p>
+
+<p>Indeed, it was the by-standers who had the worst of it on these
+occasions. To the worthy couple themselves the habit had become second
+nature, and in no way affected the friendly tenor of their domestic
+relations. They would interfere with each other's conversation,
+contradicting assertions, and disputing conclusions for a whole
+evening; and then, when all the world and his wife thought that these
+ceaseless sparks of bickering must blaze up into a flaming quarrel as
+soon as they were alone, they would bowl<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[141]</a></span> amicably home in a cab,
+criticizing the friends who were commenting upon them, and as little
+agreed about the events of the evening as about the details of any
+other events whatever.</p>
+
+<p>Yes. The by-standers certainly had the worst of it. Those who were
+near wished themselves anywhere else, especially when appealed to.
+Those who were at a distance did not mind so much. A domestic squabble
+at a certain distance is interesting, like an engagement viewed from a
+point beyond the range of guns. In such a position one may some day be
+placed oneself! Moreover, it gives a touch of excitement to a dull
+evening to be able to say <i>sotto voce</i> to one's neighbor, "Do listen!
+The Skratdjs are at it again!" Their unmarried friends thought a
+terrible abyss of tyranny and aggravation must lie beneath it all, and
+blessed their stars that they were still single, and able to tell a
+tale their own way. The married ones had more idea of how it really
+was, and wished in the name of common sense and good taste that
+Skratdj and his wife would not make fools of themselves.</p>
+
+<p>So it went on, however; and so, I suppose it goes on still, for not
+many bad habits are cured in middle age.</p>
+
+<p>On certain questions of comparative speaking their views were never
+identical. Such as the temperature being hot or cold, things being
+light or dark, the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[142]</a></span> apple-tarts being sweet or sour. So one day Mr.
+Skratdj came into the room, rubbing his hands, and planting himself at
+the fire with "Bitterly cold it is to-day, to be sure."</p>
+
+<p>"Why, my dear William," said Mrs. Skratdj, "I'm sure you must have got
+a cold; I feel a fire quite oppressive myself."</p>
+
+<p>"You were wishing you'd a seal-skin jacket yesterday, when it wasn't
+half as cold as it is to-day," said Mr. Skratdj.</p>
+
+<p>"My dear William! Why, the children were shivering the whole day, and
+the wind was in the north."</p>
+
+<p>"Due east, Mrs. Skratdj."</p>
+
+<p>"I know by the smoke," said Mrs. Skratdj, softly but decidedly.</p>
+
+<p>"I fancy I can tell an east wind when I feel it," said Mr. Skratdj,
+jocosely, to the company.</p>
+
+<p>"I told Jemima to look at the weathercock," murmured Mrs. Skratdj.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't care a fig for Jemima," said her husband.</p>
+
+<p>On another occasion Mrs. Skratdj and a lady friend were conversing.</p>
+
+<p>... "We met him at the Smiths'&mdash;a gentlemanlike agreeable man, about
+forty," said Mrs. Skratdj, in reference to some matter interesting to
+both ladies.</p>
+
+<p>"Not a day over thirty-five," said Mr. Skratdj, from behind his
+newspaper.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[143]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Why, my dear William, his hair's grey," said Mrs. Skratdj.</p>
+
+<p>"Plenty of men are grey at thirty," said Mr. Skratdj. "I knew a man
+who was grey at twenty-five."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, forty or thirty-five, it doesn't much matter," said Mrs.
+Skratdj, about to resume her narration.</p>
+
+<p>"Five years matters a good deal to most people at thirty-five," said
+Mr. Skratdj, as he walked towards the door. "They would make a
+remarkable difference to me, I know;" and with a jocular air Mr.
+Skratdj departed, and Mrs. Skratdj had the rest of the anecdote her
+own way.</p>
+
+<h3><span class="smcap">The Little Skratdjs.</span></h3>
+<p>The Spirit of Contradiction finds a place in most nurseries, though to
+a very varying degree in different ones. Children snap and snarl by
+nature, like young puppies; and most of us can remember taking part in
+some such spirited dialogues as the following:&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>
+{"I will."<br />
+{"You can't."<br />
+<br />
+{"You shall."<br />
+{"I won't."<br />
+<br />
+{"You daren't."<br />
+{"I dare."<br />
+<br />
+{"I'll tell Mamma."<br />
+{"I don't care if you do."<br />
+</p>
+
+<p>It is the part of wise parents to repress these squibs and crackers of
+juvenile contention, and to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[144]</a></span> enforce that slowly-learned lesson, that
+in this world one must often "pass over" and "put up with" things in
+other people, being oneself by no means perfect. Also that it is a
+kindness, and almost a duty, to let people think and say and do things
+in their own way occasionally.</p>
+
+<p>But even if Mr. and Mrs. Skratdj had ever thought of teaching all this
+to their children, it must be confessed that the lesson would not have
+come with a good grace from either of them, since they snapped and
+snarled between themselves as much or more than their children in the
+nursery.</p>
+
+<p>The two eldest were the leaders in the nursery squabbles. Between
+these, a boy and a girl, a ceaseless war of words was waged from
+morning to night. And as neither of them lacked ready wit, and both
+were in constant practice, the art of snapping was cultivated by them
+to the highest pitch.</p>
+
+<p>It began at breakfast, if not sooner.</p>
+
+<p>"You've taken my chair."</p>
+
+<p>"It's not your chair."</p>
+
+<p>"You know it's the one I like, and it was in my place."</p>
+
+<p>"How do you know it was in your place?"</p>
+
+<p>"Never mind. I do know."</p>
+
+<p>"No, you don't."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, I do."</p>
+
+<p>"Suppose I say it was in my place."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[145]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"You can't, for it wasn't."</p>
+
+<p>"I can, if I like."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, was it?"</p>
+
+<p>"I sha'n't tell you."</p>
+
+<p>"Ah! that shews it wasn't."</p>
+
+<p>"No, it doesn't."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, it does."</p>
+
+<p>Etc., etc., etc.</p>
+
+<p>The direction of their daily walks was a fruitful subject of
+difference of opinion.</p>
+
+<p>"Let's go on the Common to-day, Nurse."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, don't let's go there; we're always going on the Common."</p>
+
+<p>"I'm sure we're not. We've not been there for ever so long."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, what a story! We were there on Wednesday. Let's go down Gipsey
+Lane. We never go down Gipsey Lane."</p>
+
+<p>"Why, we're always going down Gipsey Lane. And there's nothing to see
+there."</p>
+
+<p>"I don't care. I won't go on the Common, and I shall go and get Papa
+to say we're to go down Gipsey Lane. I can run faster than you."</p>
+
+<p>"That's very sneaking; but I don't care."</p>
+
+<p>"Papa! Papa! Polly's called me a sneak."</p>
+
+<p>"No, I didn't, Papa."</p>
+
+<p>"You did."</p>
+
+<p>"No, I didn't. I only said it was sneaking of you<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[146]</a></span> to say you'd run
+faster than me, and get Papa to say we were to go down Gipsey Lane."</p>
+
+<p>"Then you did call him sneaking," said Mr. Skratdj. "And you're a very
+naughty, ill-mannered little girl. You're getting very troublesome,
+Polly, and I shall have to send you to school, where you'll be kept in
+order. Go where your brother wishes at once."</p>
+
+<p>For Polly and her brother had reached an age when it was convenient,
+if possible, to throw the blame of all nursery differences on Polly.
+In families where domestic discipline is rather fractious than firm,
+there comes a stage when the girls almost invariably go to the wall,
+because they will stand snubbing, and the boys will not. Domestic
+authority, like some other powers, is apt to be magnified on the
+weaker class.</p>
+
+<p>But Mr. Skratdj would not always listen even to Harry.</p>
+
+<p>"If you don't give it me back directly, I'll tell about your eating
+the two magnum-bonums in the kitchen garden on Sunday," said Master
+Harry on one occasion.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Tell-tale tit!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Your tongue shall be slit,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And every dog in the town shall have a little bit,"<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>quoted his sister.</p>
+
+<p>"Ah! You've called me a tell-tale. Now I'll go<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[147]</a></span> and tell Papa. You got
+into a fine scrape for calling me names the other day."</p>
+
+<p>"Go, then! I don't care."</p>
+
+<p>"You wouldn't like me to go, I know."</p>
+
+<p>"You daren't. That's what it is."</p>
+
+<p>"I dare."</p>
+
+<p>"Then why don't you?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, I am going; but you'll see what will be the end of it."</p>
+
+<p>Polly, however, had her own reasons for remaining stolid, and Harry
+started. But when he reached the landing he paused. Mr. Skratdj had
+especially announced that morning that he did not wish to be
+disturbed, and though he was a favorite, Harry had no desire to invade
+the dining-room at this crisis. So he returned to the nursery, and
+said with a magnanimous air, "I don't want to get you into a scrape,
+Polly. If you'll beg my pardon I won't go."</p>
+
+<p>"I'm sure I sha'n't," said Polly, who was equally well informed as to
+the position of affairs at headquarters. "Go, if you dare."</p>
+
+<p>"I won't if you want me not," said Harry, discreetly waiving the
+question of apologies.</p>
+
+<p>"But I'd rather you went," said the obdurate Polly. "You're always
+telling tales. Go and tell now, if you're not afraid."</p>
+
+<p>So Harry went. But at the bottom of the stairs he lingered again, and
+was meditating how to return<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[148]</a></span> with most credit to his dignity, when
+Polly's face appeared through the banisters, and Polly's sharp tongue
+goaded him on.</p>
+
+<p>"Ah! I see you. You're stopping. You daren't go."</p>
+
+<p>"I dare," said Harry; and at last he went.</p>
+
+<p>As he turned the handle of the door, Mr. Skratdj turned round.</p>
+
+<p>"Please, Papa&mdash;&mdash;" Harry began.</p>
+
+<p>"Get away with you!" cried Mr. Skratdj. "Didn't I tell you I was not
+to be disturbed this morning? What an extraor&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>But Harry had shut the door, and withdrawn precipitately.</p>
+
+<p>Once outside, he returned to the nursery with dignified steps, and an
+air of apparent satisfaction, saying,</p>
+
+<p>"You're to give me the bricks, please."</p>
+
+<p>"Who says so?"</p>
+
+<p>"Why, who should say so? Where have I been, pray?"</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know, and I don't care."</p>
+
+<p>"I've been to Papa. There!"</p>
+
+<p>"Did he say I was to give up the bricks?"</p>
+
+<p>"I've told you."</p>
+
+<p>"No, you've not."</p>
+
+<p>"I sha'n't tell you any more."</p>
+
+<p>"Then I'll go to Papa and ask."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[149]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Go by all means."</p>
+
+<p>"I won't if you'll tell me truly."</p>
+
+<p>"I sha'n't tell you anything. Go and ask, if you dare," said Harry,
+only too glad to have the tables turned.</p>
+
+<p>Polly's expedition met with the same fate, and she attempted to cover
+her retreat in a similar manner.</p>
+
+<p>"Ah! you didn't tell."</p>
+
+<p>"I don't believe you asked Papa."</p>
+
+<p>"Don't you? Very well!"</p>
+
+<p>"Well, did you?"</p>
+
+<p>"Never mind."</p>
+
+<p>Etc., etc., etc.</p>
+
+<p>Meanwhile Mr. Skratdj scolded Mrs. Skratdj for not keeping the
+children in better order. And Mrs. Skratdj said it was quite
+impossible to do so when Mr. Skratdj spoilt Harry as he did, and
+weakened her (Mrs. Skratdj's) authority by constant interference.</p>
+
+<p>Difference of sex gave point to many of these nursery squabbles, as it
+so often does to domestic broils.</p>
+
+<p>"Boys never will do what they're asked," Polly would complain.</p>
+
+<p>"Girls ask such unreasonable things," was Harry's retort.</p>
+
+<p>"Not half so unreasonable as the things you ask."</p>
+
+<p>"Ah! that's a different thing! Women have got<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[150]</a></span> to do what men tell
+them, whether it's reasonable or not."</p>
+
+<p>"No, they've not!" said Polly. "At least, that's only husbands and
+wives."</p>
+
+<p>"All women are inferior animals," said Harry.</p>
+
+<p>"Try ordering Mamma to do what you want, and see!" said Polly.</p>
+
+<p>"Men have got to give orders, and women have to obey," said Harry,
+falling back on the general principle. "And when I get a wife, I'll
+take care I make her do what I tell her. But you'll have to obey your
+husband when you get one."</p>
+
+<p>"I won't have a husband, and then I can do as I like."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, won't you? You'll try to get one, I know. Girls always want to be
+married."</p>
+
+<p>"I'm sure I don't know why," said Polly; "they must have had enough of
+men if they have brothers."</p>
+
+<p>And so they went on, <i>ad infinitum</i>, with ceaseless arguments that
+proved nothing and convinced nobody, and a continual stream of
+contradiction that just fell short of downright quarrelling.</p>
+
+<p>Indeed, there was a kind of snapping even less near to a dispute than
+in the cases just mentioned. The little Skratdjs, like some other
+children, were under the unfortunate delusion that it sounds clever to
+hear little boys and girls snap each other up with<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[151]</a></span> smart sayings, and
+old and rather vulgar play upon words, such as:</p>
+
+<p>"I'll give you a Christmas box. Which ear will you have it on?"</p>
+
+<p>"I won't stand it."</p>
+
+<p>"Pray take a chair."</p>
+
+<p>"You shall have it to-morrow."</p>
+
+<p>"To-morrow never comes."</p>
+
+<p>And so if a visitor kindly began to talk to one of the children,
+another was sure to draw near and "take up" all the first child's
+answers, with smart comments, and catches that sounded as silly as
+they were tiresome and impertinent.</p>
+
+<p>And ill-mannered as this was, Mr. and Mrs. Skratdj never put a stop to
+it. Indeed, it was only a caricature of what they did themselves. But
+they often said, "We can't think how it is the children are always
+squabbling!"</p>
+
+<h3><span class="smcap">The Skratdj's Dog and the Hot-Tempered Gentleman.</span></h3>
+<p>It is wonderful how the state of mind of a whole household is
+influenced by the heads of it. Mr. Skratdj was a very kind master, and
+Mrs. Skratdj was a very kind mistress, and yet their servants lived in
+a perpetual fever of irritability that fell just short of discontent.
+They jostled each other on the back<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[152]</a></span> stairs, said sharp things in the
+pantry, and kept up a perennial warfare on the subject of the duty of
+the sexes with the general man-servant. They gave warning on the
+slightest provocation.</p>
+
+<p>The very dog was infected by the snapping mania. He was not a brave
+dog, he was not a vicious dog, and no high-breeding sanctioned his
+pretensions to arrogance. But like his owners, he had contracted a bad
+habit, a trick, which made him the pest of all timid visitors, and
+indeed of all visitors whatsoever.</p>
+
+<p>The moment anyone approached the house, on certain occasions when he
+was spoken to, and often in no traceable connection with any cause at
+all, Snap the mongrel would rush out, and bark in his little sharp
+voice&mdash;"Yap! yap! yap!" If the visitor made a stand, he would bound
+away sideways on his four little legs; but the moment the visitor went
+on his way again, Snap was at his heels&mdash;"Yap! yap! yap!" He barked at
+the milkman, the butcher's boy, and the baker, though he saw them
+every day. He never got used to the washerwoman, and she never got
+used to him. She said he "put her in mind of that there black dog in
+the Pilgrim's Progress." He sat at the gate in summer, and yapped at
+every vehicle and every pedestrian who ventured to pass on the high
+road. He never but once had the chance of barking at burglars; and
+then, though<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[153]</a></span> he barked long and loud, nobody got up, for they said,
+"It's only Snap's way." The Skratdjs lost a silver teapot, a Stilton
+cheese, and two electro christening mugs, on this occasion; and Mr.
+and Mrs. Skratdj dispute who it was who discouraged reliance on Snap's
+warning to the present day.</p>
+
+<p>One Christmas time, a certain hot-tempered gentleman came to visit the
+Skratdjs. A tall, sandy, energetic young man, who carried his own bag
+from the railway. The bag had been crammed rather than packed, after
+the wont of bachelors; and you could see where the heel of a boot
+distended the leather, and where the bottle of shaving-cream lay.</p>
+
+<p>As he came up to the house, out came Snap as usual&mdash;"Yap! yap! yap!"
+Now the gentleman was very fond of dogs, and had borne this greeting
+some dozen of times from Snap, who for his part knew the visitor quite
+as well as the washerwoman, and rather better than the butcher's boy.
+The gentleman had good, sensible, well-behaved dogs of his own, and
+was greatly disgusted with Snap's conduct. Nevertheless he spoke
+friendly to him; and Snap, who had had many a bit from his plate,
+could not help stopping for a minute to lick his hand. But no sooner
+did the gentleman proceed on his way, than Snap flew at his heels in
+the usual fashion&mdash;</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p>"Yap! Yap! Yap!"</p></div>
+
+<p>On which the gentleman&mdash;being hot-tempered, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[154]</a></span> one of those people
+with whom it is (as they say) a word and a blow, and the blow
+first&mdash;made a dash at Snap, and Snap taking to his heels, the
+gentleman flung his carpet-bag after him. The bottle of shaving-cream
+hit upon a stone and was smashed. The heel of the boot caught Snap on
+the back and sent him squealing to the kitchen. And he never barked at
+that gentleman again.</p>
+
+<p>If the gentleman disapproved of Snap's conduct, he still less liked
+the continual snapping of the Skratdj family themselves. He was an old
+friend of Mr. and Mrs. Skratdj, however, and knew that they were
+really happy together, and that it was only a bad habit which made
+them constantly contradict each other. It was in allusion to their
+real affection for each other, and their perpetual disputing, that he
+called them the "Snapping Turtles."</p>
+
+<p>When the war of words waxed hottest at the dinner-table between his
+host and hostess, he would drive his hands through his shock of sandy
+hair, and say, with a comical glance out of his umber eyes, "Don't
+flirt, my friends. It makes a bachelor feel awkward."</p>
+
+<p>And neither Mr. nor Mrs. Skratdj could help laughing.</p>
+
+<p>With the little Skratdjs his measures were more vigorous. He was very
+fond of children, and a good friend to them. He grudged no time or
+trouble to help them in their games and projects, but he would<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[155]</a></span> not
+tolerate their snapping up each other's words in his presence. He was
+much more truly kind than many visitors, who think it polite to smile
+at the sauciness and forwardness which ignorant vanity leads children
+so often to "show off" before strangers. These civil acquaintances
+only abuse both children and parents behind their backs, for the very
+bad habits which they help to encourage.</p>
+
+<p>The hot-tempered gentleman's treatment of his young friends was very
+different. One day he was talking to Polly, and making some kind
+inquiries about her lessons, to which she was replying in a quiet and
+sensible fashion, when up came Master Harry, and began to display his
+wit by comments on the conversation, and by snapping at and
+contradicting his sister's remarks, to which she retorted; and the
+usual snap-dialogue went on as usual.</p>
+
+<p>"Then you like music?" said the hot-tempered gentleman.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, I like it very much," said Polly.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, do you?" Harry broke in. "Then what are you always crying over it
+for?"</p>
+
+<p>"I'm not always crying over it."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, you are."</p>
+
+<p>"No, I'm not. I only cry sometimes, when I stick fast."</p>
+
+<p>"Your music must be very sticky, for you're always stuck fast."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[156]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Hold your tongue!" said the hot-tempered gentleman.</p>
+
+<p>With what he imagined to be a very waggish air, Harry put out his
+tongue, and held it with his finger and thumb. It was unfortunate that
+he had not time to draw it in again before the hot-tempered gentleman
+gave him a stinging box on the ear, which brought his teeth rather
+sharply together on the tip of his tongue, which was bitten in
+consequence.</p>
+
+<p>"It's no use <i>speaking</i>," said the hot-tempered gentleman, driving his
+hands through his hair.</p>
+
+<hr style='width: 45%;' />
+
+<p>Children are like dogs, they are very good judges of their real
+friends. Harry did not like the hot-tempered gentleman a bit the less
+because he was obliged to respect and obey him; and all the children
+welcomed him boisterously when he arrived that Christmas which we have
+spoken of in connection with his attack on Snap.</p>
+
+<p>It was on the morning of Christmas Eve that the china punch bowl was
+broken. Mr. Skratdj had a warm dispute with Mrs. Skratdj as to whether
+it had been kept in a safe place; after which both had a brisk
+encounter with the housemaid, who did not know how it happened; and
+she, flouncing down the back passage, kicked Snap; who forthwith flew
+at the gardener as he was bringing in the horse-radish for the beef;
+who stepping backwards trode upon the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[157]</a></span>cat; who spit and swore, and
+went up the pump with her tail as big as a fox's brush.</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;">
+<img class="img1" src="images/image_02.jpg" width="400" height="551" alt="AND SHE FLOUNCING DOWN THE BACK PASSAGE KICKED SNAP WHO FORTHWITH FLEW AT THE GARDENER." />
+<span class="caption"><span class="smcap">And she flouncing down the back passage kicked snap who
+forthwith flew at the gardener.</span></span>
+</div>
+
+<p>To avoid this domestic scene, the hot-tempered gentleman withdrew to
+the breakfast-room and took up a newspaper. By-and-by, Harry and Polly
+came in, and they were soon snapping comfortably over their own
+affairs in a corner.</p>
+
+<p>The hot-tempered gentleman's umber eyes had been looking over the top
+of his newspaper at them for some time, before he called, "Harry, my
+boy!"</p>
+
+<p>And Harry came up to him.</p>
+
+<p>"Shew me your tongue, Harry," said he.</p>
+
+<p>"What for?" said Harry; "you're not a doctor."</p>
+
+<p>"Do as I tell you," said the hot-tempered gentleman; and as Harry saw
+his hand moving, he put his tongue out with all possible haste. The
+hot-tempered gentleman sighed. "Ah!" he said in depressed tones; "I
+thought so!&mdash;Polly, come and let me look at yours."</p>
+
+<p>Polly, who had crept up during this process, now put out hers. But the
+hot-tempered gentleman looked gloomier still, and shook his head.</p>
+
+<p>"What is it?" cried both the children. "What do you mean?" And they
+seized the tips of their tongues in their fingers, to feel for
+themselves.</p>
+
+<p>But the hot-tempered gentleman went slowly out of the room without
+answering; passing his hands<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[158]</a></span> through his hair, and saying, "Ah! Hum!"
+and nodding with an air of grave foreboding.</p>
+
+<p>Just as he crossed the threshold, he turned back, and put his head
+into the room. "Have you ever noticed that your tongues are growing
+pointed?" he asked.</p>
+
+<p>"No!" cried the children with alarm. "Are they?"</p>
+
+<p>"If ever you find them becoming forked," said the gentleman in solemn
+tones, "let me know."</p>
+
+<p>With which he departed, gravely shaking his head.</p>
+
+<p>In the afternoon the children attacked him again.</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Do</i> tell us what's the matter with our tongues."</p>
+
+<p>"You were snapping and squabbling just as usual this morning," said
+the hot-tempered gentleman.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, we forgot," said Polly. "We don't mean anything, you know. But
+never mind that now, please. Tell us about our tongues. What is going
+to happen to them?"</p>
+
+<p>"I'm very much afraid," said the hot-tempered gentleman, in solemn,
+measured tones, "that you are both of you&mdash;fast&mdash;going&mdash;to&mdash;the."</p>
+
+<p>"Dogs?" suggested Harry, who was learned in cant expressions.</p>
+
+<p>"Dogs!" said the hot-tempered gentleman, driving his hands through his
+hair. "Bless your life, no! Nothing half so pleasant! (That is, unless
+all dogs were like Snap, which mercifully they are not.) No,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[159]</a></span> my sad
+fear is, that you are both of you&mdash;rapidly&mdash;going&mdash;<i>to the
+Snap-Dragons</i>!"</p>
+
+<p>And not another word would the hot-tempered gentleman say on the
+subject.</p>
+
+
+<h3>CHRISTMAS EVE.</h3>
+<p>In the course of a few hours Mr. and Mrs. Skratdj recovered their
+equanimity. The punch was brewed in a jug, and tasted quite as good as
+usual. The evening was very lively. There were a Christmas tree, Yule
+cakes, log, and candles, furmety, and snap-dragon after supper. When
+the company was tired of the tree, and had gained an appetite by the
+hard exercise of stretching to high branches, blowing out "dangerous"
+tapers, and cutting ribbon and pack-thread in all directions, supper
+came, with its welcome cakes and furmety and punch. And when furmety
+somewhat palled upon the taste (and it must be admitted to boast more
+sentiment than flavor as a Christmas dish), the Yule candles were
+blown out and both the spirits and the palates of the party were
+stimulated by the mysterious and pungent pleasures of snap-dragon.</p>
+
+<p>Then, as the hot-tempered gentleman warmed his coat-tails at the
+Yule-log, a grim smile stole over his features as he listened to the
+sounds in the room. In the darkness the blue flames leaped and danced,
+the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[160]</a></span> raisins were snapped and snatched from hand to hand, scattering
+fragments of flame hither and thither. The children shouted as the
+fiery sweetmeats burnt away the mawkish taste of the furmety. Mr.
+Skratdj cried that they were spoiling the carpet; Mrs. Skratdj
+complained that he had spilled some brandy on her dress. Mr. Skratdj
+retorted that she should not wear dresses so susceptible of damage in
+the family circle. Mrs. Skratdj recalled an old speech of Mr. Skratdj
+on the subject of wearing one's nice things for the benefit of one's
+family, and not reserving them for visitors. Mr. Skratdj remembered
+that Mrs. Skratdj's excuse for buying that particular dress when she
+did not need it, was her intention of keeping it for the next year.
+The children disputed as to the credit for courage and the amount of
+raisins due to each. Snap barked furiously at the flames; and the
+maids hustled each other for good places in the doorway, and would not
+have allowed the man-servant to see at all, but he looked over their
+heads.</p>
+
+<p>"St! St! At it! At it!" chuckled the hot-tempered gentleman in
+undertones. And when he said this, it seemed as if the voices of Mr.
+and Mrs. Skratdj rose higher in matrimonial repartee, and the
+children's squabbles became louder, and the dog yelped as if he were
+mad, and the maids' contest was sharper; whilst the snap-dragon flames
+leaped up and up, and blue fire flew about the room like foam.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[161]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>At last the raisins were finished, the flames were all put out, and
+the company withdrew to the drawing-room. Only Harry lingered.</p>
+
+<p>"Come along, Harry," said the hot-tempered gentleman.</p>
+
+<p>"Wait a minute," said Harry.</p>
+
+<p>"You had better come," said the gentleman.</p>
+
+<p>"Why?" said Harry.</p>
+
+<p>"There's nothing to stop for. The raisins are eaten, the brandy is
+burnt out&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"No, it's not," said Harry.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, almost. It would be better if it were quite out. Now come. It's
+dangerous for a boy like you to be alone with the Snap-Dragons
+to-night."</p>
+
+<p>"Fiddle-sticks!" said Harry.</p>
+
+<p>"Go your own way, then!" said the hot-tempered gentleman; and he
+bounced out of the room, and Harry was left alone.</p>
+
+
+<h3>DANCING WITH THE DRAGONS.</h3>
+<p>He crept up to the table, where one little pale blue flame flickered
+in the snap-dragon dish.</p>
+
+<p>"What a pity it should go out!" said Harry. At this moment the brandy
+bottle on the side-board caught his eye.</p>
+
+<p>"Just a little more," murmured Harry to himself;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[162]</a></span> and he uncorked the
+bottle, and poured a little brandy on to the flame.</p>
+
+<p>Now of course, as soon as the brandy touched the fire, all the brandy
+in the bottle blazed up at once, and the bottle split to pieces; and
+it was very fortunate for Harry that he did not get seriously hurt. A
+little of the hot brandy did get into his eyes, and made them smart,
+so that he had to shut them for a few seconds.</p>
+
+<p>But when he opened them again, what a sight he saw! All over the room
+the blue flames leaped and danced as they had leaped and danced in the
+soup-plate with the raisins. And Harry saw that each successive flame
+was the fold in the long body of a bright blue Dragon, which moved
+like the body of a snake. And the room was full of these Dragons. In
+the face they were like the dragons one sees made of very old blue and
+white china; and they had forked tongues, like the tongues of
+serpents. They were most beautiful in color, being sky-blue. Lobsters
+who have just changed their coats are very handsome, but the violet
+and indigo of a lobster's coat is nothing to the brilliant sky-blue of
+a Snap-Dragon.</p>
+
+<p>How they leaped about! They were for ever leaping over each other like
+seals at play. But if it was "play" at all with them, it was of a very
+rough kind; for as they jumped, they snapped and barked<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[163]</a></span> at each
+other, and their barking was like that of the barking Gnu in the
+Zo&ouml;logical Gardens; and from time to time they tore the hair out of
+each others heads with their claws, and scattered it about the floor.
+And as it dropped it was like the flecks of flame people shake from
+their fingers when they are eating snap-dragon raisins.</p>
+
+<p>Harry stood aghast.</p>
+
+<p>"What fun!" said a voice close by him; and he saw that one of the
+Dragons was lying near, and not joining in the game. He had lost one
+of the forks of his tongue by accident, and could not bark for awhile.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm glad you think it funny," said Harry, "I don't."</p>
+
+<p>"That's right. Snap away!" sneered the Dragon. "You're a perfect
+treasure. They'll take you in with them the third round."</p>
+
+<p>"Not those creatures?" cried Harry.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, those creatures. And if I hadn't lost my bark, I'd be the first
+to lead you off," said the Dragon. "Oh, the game will exactly suit
+you."</p>
+
+<p>"What is it please?" Harry asked.</p>
+
+<p>"You'd better not say 'please' to the others," said the Dragon, "if
+you don't want to have all your hair pulled out. The game is this. You
+have always to be jumping over somebody else, and you must either talk
+or bark. If anybody speaks to you, you must snap<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[164]</a></span> in return. I need
+not explain what <i>snapping</i> is. <i>You know.</i> If anyone by accident
+gives a civil answer, a claw-full of hair is torn out of his head to
+stimulate his brain. Nothing can be funnier."</p>
+
+<p>"I dare say it suits you capitally," said Harry; "but I'm sure we
+shouldn't like it. I mean men and women and children. It wouldn't do
+for us at all."</p>
+
+<p>"Wouldn't it?" said the Dragon. "You don't know how many human beings
+dance with dragons on Christmas Eve. If we are kept going in a house
+till after midnight, we can pull people out of their beds, and take
+them to dance in Vesuvius."</p>
+
+<p>"Vesuvius!" cried Harry.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, Vesuvius. We come from Italy originally, you know. Our skins are
+the color of the Bay of Naples. We live on dried grapes and ardent
+spirits. We have glorious fun in the mountain sometimes. Oh! what
+snapping, and scratching, and tearing! Delicious! There are times when
+the squabbling becomes too great, and Mother Mountain won't stand it,
+and spits us all out, and throws cinders after us. But this is only at
+times. We had a charming meeting last year. So many human beings, and
+how they <i>can</i> snap! It was a choice party. So very select. We always
+have plenty of saucy children, and servants. Husbands and wives too,
+and quite as many of the former as the latter, if not more. But
+besides these, we had two vestry-men, a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[165]</a></span> country postmaster, who
+devoted his talents to insulting the public instead of to learning the
+postal regulations, three cabmen and two 'fares,' two young shop-girls
+from a Berlin wool shop in a town where there was no competition, four
+commercial travellers, six landladies, six Old Bailey lawyers, several
+widows from almshouses, seven single gentlemen and nine cats, who
+swore at everything; a dozen sulphur-colored screaming cockatoos; a
+lot of street children from a town; a pack of mongrel curs from the
+colonies, who snapped at the human beings' heels, and five elderly
+ladies in their Sunday bonnets with Prayer-books, who had been
+fighting for good seats in church."</p>
+
+<p>"Dear me!" said Harry.</p>
+
+<p>"If you can find nothing sharper to say than 'Dear me,'" said the
+Dragon, "you will fare badly, I can tell you. Why, I thought you'd a
+sharp tongue, but it's not forked yet, I see. Here they are, however.
+Off with you! And if you value your curls&mdash;Snap!"</p>
+
+<p>And before Harry could reply, the Snap-Dragons came on on their third
+round, and as they passed they swept Harry with them.</p>
+
+<p>He shuddered as he looked at his companions. They were as transparent
+as shrimps, but of this lovely cerulean blue. And as they leaped they
+barked&mdash;"Howf! Howf!"&mdash;like barking Gnus; and when they leaped Harry
+had to leap with them. Besides<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[166]</a></span> barking, they snapped and wrangled
+with each other; and in this Harry must join also.</p>
+
+<p>"Pleasant, isn't it?" said one of the blue Dragons.</p>
+
+<p>"Not at all," snapped Harry.</p>
+
+<p>"That's your bad taste," snapped the blue Dragon.</p>
+
+<p>"No, it's not!" snapped Harry.</p>
+
+<p>"Then it's pride and perverseness. You want your hair combing."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, please don't!" shrieked Harry, forgetting himself. On which the
+Dragon clawed a handful of hair out of his head, and Harry screamed,
+and the blue Dragons barked and danced.</p>
+
+<p>"That made your hair curl, didn't it?" asked another Dragon, leaping
+over Harry.</p>
+
+<p>"That's no business of yours," Harry snapped, as well as he could for
+crying.</p>
+
+<p>"It's more my pleasure than business," retorted the Dragon.</p>
+
+<p>"Keep it to yourself, then," snapped Harry.</p>
+
+<p>"I mean to share it with you, when I get hold of your hair," snapped
+the Dragon.</p>
+
+<p>"Wait till you get the chance," Harry snapped, with desperate presence
+of mind.</p>
+
+<p>"Do you know whom you're talking to?" roared the Dragon; and he opened
+his mouth from ear to ear, and shot out his forked tongue in Harry's
+face; and the boy was so frightened that he forgot to snap, and cried
+piteously,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[167]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Oh, I beg your pardon, please don't!"</p>
+
+<p>On which the blue Dragon clawed another handful of hair out of his
+head, and all the Dragons barked as before.</p>
+
+<p>How long the dreadful game went on Harry never exactly knew. Well
+practised as he was in snapping in the nursery, he often failed to
+think of a retort, and paid for his unreadiness by the loss of his
+hair. Oh, how foolish and wearisome all this rudeness and snapping now
+seemed to him! But on he had to go, wondering all the time how near it
+was to twelve o'clock, and whether the Snap-Dragons would stay till
+midnight and take him with them to Vesuvius.</p>
+
+<p>At last, to his joy, it became evident that the brandy was coming to
+an end. The Dragons moved slower, they could not leap so high, and at
+last one after another they began to go out.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, if they only all of them get away before twelve!" thought poor
+Harry.</p>
+
+<p>At last there was only one. He and Harry jumped about and snapped and
+barked, and Harry was thinking with joy that he was the last, when the
+clock in the hall gave that whirring sound which some clocks do before
+they strike, as if it were clearing its throat.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, <i>please</i> go!" screamed Harry in despair.</p>
+
+<p>The blue Dragon leaped up, and took such a claw-full of hair out of
+the boy's head, that it seemed as if part of the skin went too. But
+that leap was his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[168]</a></span> last. He went out at once, vanishing before the
+first stroke of twelve. And Harry was left on his face on the floor in
+the darkness.</p>
+
+
+<h3><span class="smcap">Conclusion.</span></h3>
+<p>When his friends found him there was blood on his forehead. Harry
+thought it was where the Dragon had clawed him, but they said it was a
+cut from a fragment of the broken brandy bottle. The Dragons had
+disappeared as completely as the brandy.</p>
+
+<p>Harry was cured of snapping. He had had quite enough of it for a
+lifetime, and the catch-contradictions of the household now made him
+shudder. Polly had not had the benefit of his experiences, and yet she
+improved also.</p>
+
+<p>In the first place, snapping, like other kinds of quarrelling,
+requires two parties to it, and Harry would never be a party to
+snapping any more. And when he gave civil and kind answers to Polly's
+smart speeches, she felt ashamed of herself, and did not repeat them.</p>
+
+<p>In the second place, she heard about the Snap-Dragons. Harry told all
+about it to her and to the hot-tempered gentleman.</p>
+
+<p>"Now do you think it's true?" Polly asked the hot-tempered gentleman.</p>
+
+<p>"Hum! Ha!" said he, driving his hands through<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[169]</a></span> his hair. "You know I
+warned you, you were going to the Snap-Dragons."</p>
+
+<hr style='width: 45%;' />
+
+<p>Harry and Polly snubbed "the little ones" when they snapped, and
+utterly discountenanced snapping in the nursery. The example and
+admonitions of elder children are a powerful instrument of nursery
+discipline, and before long there was not a "sharp tongue" amongst all
+the little Skratdjs.</p>
+
+<p>But I doubt if the parents ever were cured. I don't know if they heard
+the story. Besides, bad habits are not easily cured when one is old.</p>
+
+<p>I fear Mr. and Mrs. Skratdj have yet got to dance with the Dragons.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[170]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="DANDELION_CLOCKS" id="DANDELION_CLOCKS"></a>DANDELION CLOCKS.</h2>
+
+
+<p>Every child knows how to tell the time by a dandelion clock. You blow
+till the seed is all blown away, and you count each of the puffs&mdash;an
+hour to a puff. Every child knows this, and very few children want to
+know any more on the subject. It was Peter Paul's peculiarity that he
+always did want to know more about everything; a habit whose first and
+foremost inconvenience is that one can so seldom get people to answer
+one's questions.</p>
+
+<p>Peter Paul and his two sisters were playing in the pastures. Rich,
+green, Dutch pastures, unbroken by hedge or wall, which
+stretched&mdash;like an emerald ocean&mdash;to the horizon and met the sky. The
+cows stood ankle-deep in it and chewed the cud, the clouds sailed
+slowly over it to the sea, and on a dry hillock sat Mother, in her
+broad sun-hat, with one eye to the cows and one to the linen she was
+bleaching, thinking of her farm.</p>
+
+<p>Peter Paul and his sisters had found another little hillock where,
+among some tufts of meadow-flowers which the cows had not yet eaten,
+were dandelion<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[171]</a></span> clocks. They divided them quite fairly, and began to
+tell each other the time of day.</p>
+
+<p>Little Anna blew very hard for her size, and as the wind blew too, her
+clock was finished in a couple of puffs. "One, two. It's only two
+o'clock," she said, with a sigh.</p>
+
+<p>Her elder sister was more careful, but still the wind was against
+them. "One, two, three. It's three o'clock by me," she said.</p>
+
+<p>Peter Paul turned his back to the wind, and held his clock low. "One,
+two, three, four, five. It's five o'clock by my dandelion&mdash;I wonder
+why the fairy clocks all go differently."</p>
+
+<p>"We blow differently," said his sister.</p>
+
+<p>"Then they don't really tell the time," said Peter Paul.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh yes, they do&mdash;the fairy time." And the little girls got more
+clocks, and turned their backs to the wind in imitation of Peter Paul,
+and went on blowing. But the boy went up to his mother.</p>
+
+<p>"Mother, why do dandelion clocks keep different time? It was only two
+o'clock by Anna's, and three o'clock by Leena's, and five by mine. It
+can't really be evening with me and only afternoon with Anna. The days
+don't go quicker with one person than another, do they?"</p>
+
+<p>"Drive Daisy and Buttermilk nearer this way,"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[172]</a></span> said his mother; "and
+if you must ask questions, ask your Uncle Jacob."</p>
+
+<p>There was a reason for sending the boy to Uncle Jacob with his
+difficulties. He had been born after his father's death, and Uncle
+Jacob had taken up the paternal duties. It was he who had chosen the
+child's name. He had called him Peter Paul after Peter Paul Rubens,
+not that he hoped the boy would become a painter, but he wished him to
+be called after some great man, and&mdash;having just returned from
+Antwerp&mdash;the only great man he could think of was Peter Paul.</p>
+
+<p>"Give a boy a great name," said Uncle Jacob, "and if there's any stuff
+in him, there's a chance he'll live up to it."</p>
+
+<p>This was a kindly way of putting the proverb about giving a dog a bad
+name, and Uncle Jacob's strongest quality was kindness&mdash;kindness and
+the cultivation of tulips.</p>
+
+<p>He was sitting in the summer-house smoking, and reading over a
+bulb-list when Peter Paul found him.</p>
+
+<p>"Uncle Jacob, why do dandelion clocks tell different time to different
+people? Sixty seconds make a minute, sixty minutes make an hour,
+twenty-four hours make a day, three hundred and sixty-five days make a
+year. That's right, isn't it? Hours are the same length for everybody,
+aren't they? But if I got to tea-time when it was only two o'clock
+with<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[173]</a></span> Anna, and went on like that, first the days and then the years
+would go much quicker with me, and I don't know if I should die
+sooner,&mdash;but it couldn't be, could it?"</p>
+
+<p>"Certainly not," said Uncle Jacob; and he went on with his list.
+"Yellow Pottebakker, Yellow Tournesol and Yellow Rose."</p>
+
+<p>"Then the fairy clocks tells lies?" said Peter Paul.</p>
+
+<p>"That you must ask Godfather Time," replied Uncle Jacob, jocosely. "He
+is responsible for the clocks and the hour-glasses."</p>
+
+<p>"Where does he live?" asked the boy.</p>
+
+<p>But Uncle Jacob had spread the list on the summer-house table; he was
+fairly immersed in it and in a cloud of tobacco smoke, and Peter Paul
+did not like to disturb him.</p>
+
+<p>"Twenty-five Bybl&oelig;mens, twenty-five Bizards, twenty-five Roses, and
+a seedling-bed for first bloom this year."</p>
+
+<hr style='width: 45%;' />
+
+<p>Some of Uncle Jacob's seedling tulips were still "breeders," whose
+future was yet unmarked<a name="FNanchor_5_5" id="FNanchor_5_5"></a><a href="#Footnote_5_5" class="fnanchor">[5]</a> (he did not name them in hope, as he had
+christened his nephew!) when Peter Paul went to sea.</p>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_5_5" id="Footnote_5_5"></a><a href="#FNanchor_5_5"><span class="label">[5]</span></a> The first bloom of seedling tulips is usually without
+stripes or markings, and it is often years before they break into
+stripes; till then they are called breeders, and are not named.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[174]</a></span></p></div>
+
+<p>He was quite unfitted for a farmer. He was always looking forward to
+what he should do hereafter, or backward to the time when he believed
+in fairy clocks. Now a farmer should live in the present, and time
+himself by a steady-going watch with an enamelled face. Then little
+things get done at the right time, which is everything in farming.</p>
+
+<p>"Peter Paul puzzles too much," said his mother, "and that is your
+fault, Jacob, for giving him a great name. But while he's thinking,
+Daisy misses her mash and the hens lay away. He'll never make a
+farmer. Indeed, for that matter, men never farm like women, and Leena
+will take to it after me. She knows all my ways."</p>
+
+<p>They were a kindly family, with no minds to make this short life
+bitter for each other by thwarting, as so many well-meaning relatives
+do; so the boy chose his own trade and went to sea.</p>
+
+<p>He saw many places and many people; he saw a great deal of life, and
+came face to face with death more than once, and under strange shapes.
+He found answers to a lot of the old questions, and then new ones came
+in their stead. Each year seemed to hold more than a lifetime at home
+would have held, and yet how quickly the years went by!</p>
+
+<p>A great many had gone by when Peter Paul set foot once more upon Dutch
+soil.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[175]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"And it only seems like yesterday that I went away!" said he.</p>
+
+<p>Mother was dead. That was the one great change. Peter Paul's sisters
+had inherited the farm. They managed it together, and they had divided
+their mother's clothes, and also her rings and earrings, her gold
+skull-cap and head-band and pins,&mdash;the heirlooms of a Dutch farmeress.</p>
+
+<p>"It matters very little how we divide them, dear," Anna had said, "for
+I shall never marry, and they will all go to your girl."</p>
+
+<p>The elder sister was married and had two children. She had grown up
+very pretty&mdash;a fair woman, with liquid misleading eyes. They looked as
+if they were gazing into the far future, but they did not see an inch
+beyond the farm. Anna was a very plain copy of her in body, in mind
+she was the elder sister's echo. They were very fond of each other,
+and the prettiest thing about them was their faithful love for their
+mother, whose memory was kept as green as pastures after rain.</p>
+
+<p>On Sunday Peter Paul went with them to her grave, and then to service.
+The ugly little church, the same old clerk, even the look of that part
+of the seat where Peter Paul had kicked the paint off during
+sermons&mdash;all strengthened the feeling that it could only have been a
+few days since he was there before.</p>
+
+<p>As they walked home he told his sisters about the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[176]</a></span> various religious
+services he had seen abroad. They were curious to hear about them,
+under a sort of protest, for they disapproved of every form of worship
+but their own.</p>
+
+<p>"The music in some of the cathedrals is very beautiful," said Peter
+Paul. "And the choristers in their gowns, singing as they come, always
+affect me. No doubt only some are devout at heart, and others
+careless&mdash;which is also the case with the congregation&mdash;but outward
+reverence is, at the lowest, an acknowledgment of what we owe, and for
+my own part it helps me. Those white figures are not angels I know;
+but they make one think of them, and I try to be worthier of singing
+God's praises with them."</p>
+
+<p>There was a little pause, and Leena's beautiful eyes were full of
+reflections.</p>
+
+<p>Presently she said, "Who washes all the white gowns?"</p>
+
+<p>"I really don't know," said Peter Paul.</p>
+
+<p>"I fancy they don't bleach anywhere as they do in Holland," she
+continued. "Indeed, Brother, I doubt if Dutchwomen are what they were.
+No one bleaches as Mother did. Mother bleached beautifully."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, she bleached beautifully," said Anna.</p>
+
+<p>Peter Paul was only to be three weeks at home before he sailed again;
+but when ten days were over, he began to think the rest of the time
+would never come to an end. And this was from no want of love<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[177]</a></span> for his
+sisters, or of respect for their friends. One cannot help having an
+irritable brain, which rides an idea to the moon and home again,
+without stirrups, whilst some folks are getting the harness of words
+on to its back. There had been hours in his youth when all the
+unsolved riddles, the untasted joys, the great possibilities of even a
+common existence like his, so pressed upon him, that the shortness of
+the longest life of man seemed the most pitiable thing about it. But
+when he took tea with Vrow Schmidt and her daughters, and supper-time
+would not come, Peter Paul thought of the penance of the Wandering
+Jew, and felt very sorry for him.</p>
+
+<p>The sisters would have been glad if Peter Paul would have given up the
+sea and settled down with them. Leena had a plan of her own for it.
+She wanted him to marry Vrow Schmidt's niece, who had a farm.</p>
+
+<p>"But I am afraid you do not care for young ladies?" said she.</p>
+
+<p>Peter Paul got red.</p>
+
+<p>"Vrow Schmidt's niece is a very nice young lady," said he.</p>
+
+<p>He was not thinking of Vrow Schmidt's niece, he was thinking of
+something else&mdash;something for which he would have liked a little
+sympathy; but he doubted whether Leena could give it to him. Indeed,
+to cure heartache is Godfather Time's business, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[178]</a></span> even he is not
+invariably successful. It was probably a sharp twinge that made Peter
+Paul say, "Have you never wondered that when one's life is so very
+short, one can manage to get so much pain into it?"</p>
+
+<p>Leena dropped her work and looked up. "You don't say so?" said she.
+"Dear Brother, is it rheumatism? I'm sure it must be a dreadful risk
+being out on the masts in the night air, without a roof over your
+head. But do you wear flannel, Peter Paul? Mother was very much
+troubled with rheumatism latterly. She thought it was the dews at
+milking time, and she always wore flannel."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, dear, Mother always wore flannel," said Anna.</p>
+
+<p>Peter Paul satisfied them on this head. He wore flannel, red flannel
+too, which has virtues of its own.</p>
+
+<p>Leena was more anxious than ever that he should marry Vrow Schmidt's
+niece, and be taken good care of.</p>
+
+<p>But it was not to be: Peter Paul went back to his ship and into the
+wide world again.</p>
+
+<p>Uncle Jacob would have given him an off-set of his new tulip&mdash;a real
+novelty, and named&mdash;if he had had any place to plant it in.</p>
+
+<p>"I've a bed of breeders that will be worth looking at next time you
+come home," said he.</p>
+
+<p>Leena walked far over the pastures with Peter Paul. She was very fond
+of him, and she had a woman's<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[179]</a></span> perception that they would miss him
+more than he could miss them.</p>
+
+<p>"I am very sorry you could not settle down with us," she said, and her
+eyes brimmed over.</p>
+
+<p>Peter Paul kissed the tears tenderly from her cheeks.</p>
+
+<p>"Perhaps I shall when I am older, and have shaken off a few more of my
+whims into the sea. I'll come back yet, Leena, and live very near to
+you and grow tulips, and be as good an old bachelor-uncle to your boy
+as Uncle Jacob was to me."</p>
+
+<p>"And if a foreign wife would suit you better than one of the
+Schmidts," said Leena, re-arranging his bundle for him, "don't think
+we sha'n't like her. Any one you love will be welcome to us, Peter
+Paul&mdash;as welcome as you have been."</p>
+
+<p>When they got to the hillock where Mother used to sit, Peter Paul took
+her once more into his arms.</p>
+
+<p>"Good-bye, good Sister," he said. "I have been back in my childhood
+again, and God knows that is both pleasant and good for one."</p>
+
+<p>"And it is funny that you should say so," said Leena, smiling through
+her tears; "for when we were children you were never happy except in
+thinking of when you should be a man."</p>
+
+<p>"And there sit your children, just where we used to play," said Peter
+Paul.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[180]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"They are blowing dandelion clocks," said Leena, and she called them.</p>
+
+<p>"Come and bid Uncle Peter good-bye."</p>
+
+<p>He kissed them both.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, what o'clock is it?" said he. The boy gave one mighty puff and
+dispersed his fairy clock at a breath.</p>
+
+<p>"One o'clock," he cried stoutly.</p>
+
+<p>"One, two, three, four o'clock," said the girl. And they went back to
+their play.</p>
+
+<p>And Leena stood by them, with Mother's old sun-hat on her young head,
+and watched Peter Paul's figure over the flat pastures till it was an
+indistinguishable speck.</p>
+
+<p>He turned back a dozen times to wave his hands to her, and to the
+children telling the fairy time.</p>
+
+<p>But he did not ask now why dandelion clocks go differently with
+different people. Godfather Time had told him. He teaches us many
+things.</p>
+
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[181]</a></span></p>
+<h3>The
+</h3>
+<h2><a name="THE_BLIND_MAN_AND_THE_TALKING_DOG" id="THE_BLIND_MAN_AND_THE_TALKING_DOG"></a>BLIND MAN AND THE TALKING DOG.</h2>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;">
+<img class="img1" src="images/image_03.jpg" width="400" height="603" alt="The blind man and the talking dog."  />
+<span class="caption"><span class="smcap">The blind man and the talking dog.</span></span>
+</div>
+
+
+<p>There was once an old man whom Fortune (whose own eyes are bandaged)
+had deprived of his sight. She had taken his hearing also, so that he
+was deaf. Poor he had always been, and as Time had stolen his youth
+and strength from him, they had only left a light burden for death to
+carry when he should come the old man's way.</p>
+
+<p>But Love (who is blind also) had given the Blind Man a Dog, who led
+him out in the morning to a seat in the sun under the crab-tree, and
+held his hat for wayside alms, and brought him safely home at sunset.</p>
+
+<p>The Dog was wise and faithful&mdash;as dogs often are&mdash;but the wonder of
+him was that he could talk. In which will be seen the difference
+between dogs and men, most of whom can talk; whilst it is a matter for
+admiration if they are wise and faithful.</p>
+
+<p>One day the Mayor's little son came down the road, and by the hand he
+held his playmate Aldegunda.</p>
+
+<p>"Give the poor blind man a penny," said she.</p>
+
+<p>"You are always wanting me to give away my<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[182]</a></span> money," replied the boy
+peevishly. "It is well that my father is the richest man in the town,
+and that I have a whole silver crown yet in my pocket."</p>
+
+<p>But he put the penny into the hat which the Dog held out, and the Dog
+gave it to his master.</p>
+
+<p>"Heaven bless you," said the Blind Man.</p>
+
+<p>"Amen," said the Dog.</p>
+
+<p>"Aldegunda! Aldegunda!" cried the boy, dancing with delight "Here's a
+dog who can talk. I would give my silver crown for him. Old man, I
+say, old man! Will you sell me your dog for a silver crown?"</p>
+
+<p>"My master is deaf as well as blind," said the Dog.</p>
+
+<p>"What a miserable old creature he must be," said the boy
+compassionately.</p>
+
+<p>"Men do not smile when they are miserable, do they?" said the Dog;
+"and my master smiles sometimes&mdash;when the sun warms right through our
+coats to our bones; when he feels the hat shake against his knee as
+the pennies drop in; and when I lick his hand."</p>
+
+<p>"But for all that, he is a poor wretched old beggar, in want of
+everything," persisted the boy. "Now I am the Mayor's only son, and he
+is the richest man in the town. Come and live with me, and I will give
+the Blind Man my silver crown. I should be perfectly happy if I had a
+talking dog of my own."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[183]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"It is worth thinking of," said the Dog. "I should certainly like a
+master who was perfectly happy. You are sure that there is nothing
+else that you wish for?"</p>
+
+<p>"I wish I were a man," replied the boy. "To do exactly as I chose, and
+have plenty of money to spend, and holidays all the year round."</p>
+
+<p>"That sounds well," said the Dog. "Perhaps I had better wait till you
+grow up. There is nothing else that you want, I suppose?"</p>
+
+<p>"I want a horse," said the boy, "a real black charger. My father ought
+to know that I am too old for a hobby-horse. It vexes me to look at
+it."</p>
+
+<p>"I must wait for the charger, I see," said the Dog. "Nothing vexes you
+but the hobby-horse, I hope?"</p>
+
+<p>"Aldegunda vexes me more than anything," answered the boy, with an
+aggrieved air; "and it's very hard when I am so fond of her. She
+always tumbles down when we run races, her legs are so short. It's her
+birthday to-day, but she toddles as badly as she did yesterday, though
+she's a year older."</p>
+
+<p>"She will have learned to run by the time that you are a man," said
+the Dog. "So nice a little lady can give you no other cause of
+annoyance, I am sure?"</p>
+
+<p>The boy frowned.</p>
+
+<p>"She is always wanting something; She wants something now, I see. What
+do you want, Aldegunda?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[184]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"I wish&mdash;" said Aldegunda, timidly, "I should like&mdash;the blind man to
+have the silver crown, and for us to keep the penny, if you can get it
+back out of the hat."</p>
+
+<p>"That's just the way you go on," said the boy angrily. "You always
+think differently from me. Now remember, Aldegunda, I won't marry you
+when you grow big, unless you agree with what I do, like the wife in
+the story of 'What the Goodman does is sure to be right.'"</p>
+
+<p>On hearing this, Aldegunda sobbed till she burst the strings of her
+hat, and the boy had to tie them afresh.</p>
+
+<p>"I won't marry you at all if you cry," said he.</p>
+
+<p>But at that she only cried the more, and they went away bickering into
+the green lanes.</p>
+
+<p>As to the old man, he had heard nothing; and when the dog licked his
+withered hand, he smiled.</p>
+
+<p>Many a time did the boy return with his playmate to try and get the
+Talking Dog. But the Dog always asked if he had yet got all that he
+wanted, and, being an honorable child, the boy was too truthful to say
+that he was content when he was not.</p>
+
+<p>"The day that you want nothing more but me I will be your dog," it
+said. "Unless, indeed, my present master should have attained perfect
+happiness before you."</p>
+
+<p>"I am not afraid of that," said the boy.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[185]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>In time the Mayor died, and his widow moved to her native town and
+took her son with her.</p>
+
+<p>Years passed, and the Blind Man lived on; for when one gets very old
+and keeps very quiet in his little corner of the world, Death seems
+sometimes to forget to remove him.</p>
+
+<p>Years passed, and the Mayor's son became a man, and was strong and
+rich, and had a fine black charger. Aldegunda grew up also. She was
+very beautiful, wonderfully beautiful, and Love (who is blind) gave
+her to her old playmate.</p>
+
+<p>The wedding was a fine one, and when it was over the bridegroom
+mounted his black charger and took his bride behind him, and rode away
+into the green lanes.</p>
+
+<p>"Ah, what delight!" he said. "Now we will ride through the town where
+we lived when we were children; and if the Blind Man is still alive,
+you shall give him a silver crown; and if the Talking Dog is alive, I
+shall claim him, for to-day I am perfectly happy and want nothing."</p>
+
+<p>Aldegunda thought to herself&mdash;"We are so happy, and have so much, that
+I do not like to take the Blind Man's dog from him;" but she did not
+dare to say so. One&mdash;if not two&mdash;must bear and forbear to be happy
+even on one's wedding day.</p>
+
+<p>By-and-bye they rode under the crab-tree, but the seat was empty.
+"What has become of the Blind<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[186]</a></span> Man?" the Mayor's son asked of a
+peasant who was near.</p>
+
+<p>"He died two days ago," said the peasant. "He is buried to-day, and
+the priest and chanters are now returning from the grave."</p>
+
+<p>"And the Talking Dog?" asked the young man.</p>
+
+<p>"He is at the grave now," said the peasant; "but he has neither spoken
+nor eaten since his master died."</p>
+
+<p>"We have come in the nick of time," said the young man triumphantly,
+and he rode to the church-yard.</p>
+
+<p>By the grave was the dog, as the man had said, and up the winding path
+came the priest and his young chanters, who sang with shrill, clear
+voices&mdash;"Blessed are the dead who die in the Lord."</p>
+
+<p>"Come and live with me, now your old master is gone," said the young
+man, stooping over the dog. But he made no reply.</p>
+
+<p>"I think he is dead, sir," said the grave-digger.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't believe it," said the young man fretfully. "He was an
+Enchanted Dog, and he promised I should have him when I could say what
+I am ready to say now. He should have kept his promise."</p>
+
+<p>But Aldegunda had taken the dog's cold head into her arms, and her
+tears fell fast over it.</p>
+
+<p>"You forget," she said; "he only promised to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[187]</a></span> come to you when you
+were happy, if his old master were not happier first; and,
+perhaps,&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"I remember that you always disagree with me," said the young man,
+impatiently. "You always did do so. Tears on our wedding-day, too! I
+suppose the truth is that no one is happy."</p>
+
+<p>Aldegunda made no answer, for it is not from those one loves that he
+will willingly learn that with a selfish and imperious temper
+happiness never dwells.</p>
+
+<p>And as they rode away again into the green lanes, the shrill voices of
+the chanters followed them&mdash;"Blessed are the dead. Blessed are the
+dead."</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[188]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="SO-SO" id="SO-SO"></a>"SO-SO."</h2>
+
+
+<p>"Be sure, my child," said the widow to her little daughter, "that you
+always do just as you are told."</p>
+
+<p>"Very well, Mother."</p>
+
+<p>"Or at any rate do what will do just as well," said the small
+house-dog as he lay blinking at the fire.</p>
+
+<p>"You darling!" cried little Joan, and she sat down on the hearth and
+hugged him. But he got up and shook himself, and moved three turns
+nearer the oven, to be out of the way; for though her arms were soft
+she had kept her doll in them, and that was made of wood, which hurts.</p>
+
+<p>"What a dear, kind house-dog you are!" said little Joan, and she meant
+what she said, for it does feel nice to have the sharp edges of one's
+duty a little softened off for one.</p>
+
+<p>He was no particular kind of a dog, but he was very smooth to stroke,
+and had a nice way of blinking with his eyes, which it was soothing to
+see. There had been a difficulty about his name. The name of the
+house-dog before him was Faithful, and well it became him, as his
+tombstone testified. The<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[189]</a></span> one before that was called Wolf. He was very
+wild, and ended his days on the gallows, for worrying sheep. The
+little house-dog never chased anything, to the widow's knowledge.
+There was no reason whatever for giving him a bad name, and she
+thought of several good ones, such as Faithful, and Trusty, and
+Keeper, which are fine old-fashioned titles, but none of these seemed
+quite perfectly to suit him. So he was called So-so; and a very nice
+soft name it is.</p>
+
+<p>The widow was only a poor woman, though she contrived by her industry
+to keep a decent home together, and to get now one and now another
+little comfort for herself and her child.</p>
+
+<p>One day she was going out on business, and she called her little
+daughter and said to her, "I am going out for two hours. You are too
+young to protect yourself and the house, and So-so is not as strong as
+Faithful was. But when I go, shut the house-door and bolt the big
+wooden bar, and be sure that you do not open it for any reason
+whatever till I return. If strangers come, So-so may bark, which he
+can do as well as a bigger dog. Then they will go away. With this
+summer's savings I have bought a quilted petticoat for you and a
+duffle cloak for myself against the winter, and if I get the work I am
+going after to-day, I shall buy enough wool to knit warm stockings for
+us both. So be patient till I return, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[190]</a></span> then we will have the
+plumcake that is in the cupboard for tea."</p>
+
+<p>"Thank you, Mother."</p>
+
+<p>"Good-bye, my child. Be sure and do just as I have told you," said the
+widow.</p>
+
+<p>"Very well, Mother."</p>
+
+<p>Little Joan laid down her doll, and shut the house-door, and fastened
+the big bolt. It was very heavy, and the kitchen looked gloomy when
+she had done it.</p>
+
+<p>"I wish Mother had taken us all three with her, and had locked the
+house and put the key in her big pocket, as she has done before," said
+little Joan, as she got into the rocking-chair, to put her doll to
+sleep.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, it would have done just as well," So-so replied, as he stretched
+himself on the hearth.</p>
+
+<p>By-and-bye Joan grew tired of hushabying the doll, who looked none the
+sleepier for it, and she took the three-legged stool and sat down in
+front of the clock to watch the hands. After awhile she drew a deep
+sigh.</p>
+
+<p>"There are sixty seconds in every single minute, So-so," said she.</p>
+
+<p>"So I have heard," said So-so. He was snuffing in the back place,
+which was not usually allowed.</p>
+
+<p>"And sixty whole minutes in every hour, So-so."</p>
+
+<p>"You don't say so!" growled So-so. He had not found a bit, and the
+cake was on the top shelf. There was not so much as a spilt crumb,
+though he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[191]</a></span> snuffed in every corner of the kitchen till he stood
+snuffing under the house-door.</p>
+
+<p>"The air smells fresh," he said.</p>
+
+<p>"It's a beautiful day, I know," said little Joan. "I wish Mother had
+allowed us to sit on the doorstep. We could have taken care of the
+house&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Just as well," said So-so.</p>
+
+<p>Little Joan came to smell the air at the keyhole, and, as So-so had
+said, it smelt very fresh. Besides, one could see from the window how
+fine the evening was.</p>
+
+<p>"It's not exactly what Mother told us to do," said Joan, "but I do
+believe&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"It would do just as well," said So-so.</p>
+
+<p>By-and-bye little Joan unfastened the bar, and opened the door, and
+she and the doll and So-so went out and sat on the doorstep.</p>
+
+<p>Not a stranger was to be seen. The sun shone delightfully. An evening
+sun, and not too hot. All day it had been ripening the corn in the
+field close by, and this glowed and waved in the breeze.</p>
+
+<p>"It does just as well, and better," said little Joan, "for if anyone
+comes we can see him coming up the field-path."</p>
+
+<p>"Just so," said So-so, blinking in the sunshine.</p>
+
+<p>Suddenly Joan jumped up.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh!" cried she, "there's a bird, a big bird. Dear So-so, can you see
+him? I can't, because of the sun.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[192]</a></span> What a queer noise he makes. Crake!
+crake! Oh, I can see him now! He is not flying, he is running, and he
+has gone into the corn. I do wish I were in the corn, I would catch
+him, and put him in a cage."</p>
+
+<p>"I'll catch him," said So-so, and he put up his tail, and started off.</p>
+
+<p>"No, no!" cried Joan. "You are not to go. You must stay and take care
+of the house, and bark if anyone comes."</p>
+
+<p>"You could scream, and that would do just as well," replied So-so,
+with his tail still up.</p>
+
+<p>"No, it wouldn't," cried little Joan.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, it would," reiterated So-so.</p>
+
+<p>Whilst they were bickering, an old woman came up to the door; she had
+a brown face, and black hair, and a very old red cloak.</p>
+
+<p>"Good evening, my little dear," said she. "Are you all at home this
+fine evening?"</p>
+
+<p>"Only three of us," said Joan; "I, and my doll, and So-so. Mother has
+gone to the town on business, and we are taking care of the house, but
+So-so wants to go after the bird we saw run into the corn."</p>
+
+<p>"Was it a pretty bird, my little dear?" asked the old woman.</p>
+
+<p>"It was a very curious one," said Joan, "and I should like to go after
+it myself, but we can't leave the house."</p>
+
+<p>"Dear, dear! Is there no neighbor would sit on<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[193]</a></span> the doorstep for you
+and keep the house till you just slip down to the field after the
+curious bird?" said the old woman.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm afraid not," said little Joan. "Old Martha, our neighbor, is now
+bedridden. Of course, if she had been able to mind the house instead
+of us, it would have done just as well."</p>
+
+<p>"I have some distance to go this evening," said the old woman, "but I
+do not object to a few minutes' rest, and sooner than that you should
+lose the bird I will sit on the doorstep to oblige you, while you run
+down to the cornfield."</p>
+
+<p>"But can you bark if anyone comes?" asked little Joan. "For if you
+can't, So-so must stay with you."</p>
+
+<p>"I can call you and the dog if I see anyone coming, and that will do
+just as well," said the old woman.</p>
+
+<p>"So it will," replied little Joan, and off she ran to the cornfield,
+where, for that matter, So-so had run before her, and was bounding and
+barking and springing among the wheat-stalks.</p>
+
+<p>They did not catch the bird, though they stayed longer than they had
+intended, and though So-so seemed to know more about hunting than was
+supposed.</p>
+
+<p>"I daresay Mother has come home," said little Joan, as they went back
+up the field-path. "I hope she won't think we ought to have stayed in
+the house."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[194]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"It was taken care of," said So-so, and "that must do just as well."</p>
+
+<p>When they reached the house, the widow had not come home.</p>
+
+<p>But the old woman had gone, and she had taken the quilted petticoat
+and the duffle cloak, and the plumcake from the top shelf away with
+her; and no more was ever heard of any of the lot.</p>
+
+<hr style='width: 45%;' />
+
+<p>"For the future, my child," said the widow, "I hope you will always do
+just as you are told, whatever So-so may say."</p>
+
+<p>"I will, Mother," said little Joan. (And she did.) But the house-dog
+sat and blinked. He dared not speak, he was in disgrace.</p>
+
+<p>I do not feel quite sure about So-so. Wild dogs often amend their ways
+far on this side of the gallows, and the Faithful sometimes fall; but
+when anyone begins by being only So-so, he is very apt to be So-so to
+the end. So-sos so seldom change.</p>
+
+<p>But this one was <i>very</i> soft and nice, and he got no cake that
+tea-time. On the whole we will hope that he lived to be a Good Dog
+ever after.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[195]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="THE_TRINITY_FLOWER" id="THE_TRINITY_FLOWER"></a>THE TRINITY FLOWER.</h2>
+
+<h3>A Legend.</h3>
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Break forth, my lips, in praise, and own<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The wiser love severely kind:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Since, richer for its chastening grown,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">I see, whereas I once was blind."<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="f3">&mdash;<i>The Clear Vision</i>, <span class="smcap">J. G. Whittier.</span></p>
+
+
+<p>In days of yore there was once a certain hermit, who dwelt in a cell,
+which he had fashioned for himself from a natural cave in the side of
+a hill.</p>
+
+<p>Now this hermit had a great love for flowers, and was moreover learned
+in the virtues of herbs, and in that great mystery of healing which
+lies hidden among the green things of <span class="smcap">God</span>. And so it came to pass that
+the country people from all parts came to him for the simples which
+grew in the little garden which he had made before his cell. And as
+his fame spread, and more people came to him, he added more and more
+to the plat which he had reclaimed from the waste land around.</p>
+
+<p>But after many years there came a Spring when the colors of the
+flowers seemed paler to the hermit than they used to be; and as Summer
+drew on, their shapes,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[196]</a></span> became indistinct, and he mistook one plant
+for another; and when Autumn came, he told them by their various
+scents, and by their form, rather than by sight; and when the flowers
+were gone, and Winter had come, the hermit was quite blind.</p>
+
+<p>Now in the hamlet below there lived a boy who had become known to the
+hermit on this manner. On the edge of the hermit's garden there grew
+two crab trees, from the fruit of which he made every year a certain
+confection, which was very grateful to the sick. One year many of
+these crab-apples were stolen, and the sick folk of the hamlet had
+very little conserve. So the following year, as the fruit was
+ripening, the hermit spoke every day to those who came to his cell,
+saying:&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"I pray you, good people, to make it known that he who robs these crab
+trees, robs not me alone, which is dishonest, but the sick, which is
+inhuman."</p>
+
+<p>And yet once more the crab-apples were taken.</p>
+
+<p>The following evening, as the hermit sat on the side of the hill, he
+overheard two boys disputing about the theft.</p>
+
+<p>"It must either have been a very big man, or a small boy, to do it,"
+said one. "So I say, and I have my reason."</p>
+
+<p>"And what is thy reason, Master Wiseacre?" asked the other.</p>
+
+<p>"The fruit is too high to be plucked except by a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[197]</a></span> very big man," said
+the first boy. "And the branches are not strong enough for any but a
+child to climb."</p>
+
+<p>"Canst thou think of no other way to rob an apple tree but by standing
+a-tip-toe, or climbing up to the apples, when they should come down to
+thee?" said the second boy. "Truly thy head will never save thy heels;
+but here's a riddle for thee:</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Riddle me riddle me re,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Four big brothers are we;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">We gather the fruit, but climb never a tree.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>Who are they?"</p>
+
+<p>"Four tall robbers, I suppose," said the other.</p>
+
+<p>"Tush!" cried his comrade. "They are the four winds; and when they
+whistle, down falls the ripest. But others can shake besides the
+winds, as I will show thee if thou hast any doubts in the matter."</p>
+
+<p>And as he spoke he sprang to catch the other boy, who ran from him;
+and they chased each other down the hill, and the hermit heard no
+more.</p>
+
+<p>But as he turned to go home he said, "The thief was not far away when
+thou stoodst near. Nevertheless, I will have patience. It needs not
+that I should go to seek thee, for what saith the Scripture? <i>Thy sin</i>
+will find thee out." And he made conserve of such apples as were left,
+and said nothing.</p>
+
+<p>Now after a certain time a plague broke out in the hamlet; and it was
+so sore, and there were so few to nurse the many who were sick, that,
+though it was not<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[198]</a></span> the wont of the hermit ever to leave his place, yet
+in their need he came down and ministered to the people in the
+village. And one day, as he passed a certain house, he heard moans
+from within, and entering, he saw lying upon a bed a boy who tossed
+and moaned in fever, and cried out most miserably that his throat was
+parched and burning. And when the hermit looked upon his face, behold
+it was the boy who had given the riddle of the four winds upon the
+side of the hill.</p>
+
+<p>Then the hermit fed him with some of the confection which he had with
+him, and it was so grateful to the boy's parched palate, that he
+thanked and blessed the hermit aloud, and prayed him to leave a morsel
+of it behind, to soothe his torments in the night.</p>
+
+<p>Then said the hermit, "My Son, I would that I had more of this
+confection, for the sake of others as well as for thee. But indeed I
+have only two trees which bear the fruit whereof this is made; and in
+two successive years have the apples been stolen by some thief,
+thereby robbing not only me, which is dishonest, but the poor, which
+is inhuman."</p>
+
+<p>Then the boy's theft came back to his mind, and he burst into tears,
+and cried, "My Father, I took the crab-apples!"</p>
+
+<p>And after awhile he recovered his health; the plague also abated in
+the hamlet, and the hermit went back to his cell. But the boy would
+thenceforth never leave him, always wishing to show his penitence<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[199]</a></span> and
+gratitude. And though the hermit sent him away, he ever returned,
+saying,</p>
+
+<p>"Of what avail is it to drive me from thee, since I am resolved to
+serve thee, even as Samuel served Eli, and Timothy ministered unto St.
+Paul?"</p>
+
+<p>But the hermit said, "My rule is to live alone, and without
+companions; wherefore begone."</p>
+
+<p>And when the boy still came, he drove him from the garden.</p>
+
+<p>Then the boy wandered far and wide, over moor and bog, and gathered
+rare plants and herbs, and laid them down near the hermit's cell. And
+when the hermit was inside, the boy came into the garden, and gathered
+the stones and swept the paths, and tied up such plants as were
+drooping, and did all neatly and well, for he was a quick and skilful
+lad. And when the hermit said,</p>
+
+<p>"Thou hast done well, and I thank thee; but now begone," he only
+answered,</p>
+
+<p>"What avails it, when I am resolved to serve thee?"</p>
+
+<p>So at last there came a day when the hermit said, "It may be that it
+is ordained; wherefore abide, my Son."</p>
+
+<p>And the boy answered, "Even so, for I am resolved to serve thee."</p>
+
+<p>Thus he remained. And thenceforward the hermit's garden throve as it
+had never thriven before. For, though he had skill, the hermit was old
+and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[200]</a></span> feeble; but the boy was young and active, and he worked hard, and
+it was to him a labor of love. And being a clever boy, he quickly knew
+the names and properties of the plants as well as the hermit himself.
+And when he was not working, he would go far afield to seek for new
+herbs. And he always returned to the village at night.</p>
+
+<p>Now when the hermit's sight began to fail, the boy put him right if he
+mistook one plant for another; and when the hermit became quite blind,
+he relied completely upon the boy to gather for him the herbs that he
+wanted. And when anything new was planted, the boy led the old man to
+the spot, that he might know that it was so many paces in such a
+direction from the cell, and might feel the shape and texture of the
+leaves, and learn its scent. And through the skill and knowledge of
+the boy, the hermit was in no wise hindered from preparing his
+accustomed remedies, for he knew the names and virtues of the herbs,
+and where every plant grew. And when the sun shone, the boy would
+guide his master's steps into the garden, and would lead him up to
+certain flowers; but to those which had a perfume of their own the old
+man could go without help, being guided by the scent. And as he
+fingered their leaves and breathed their fragrance, he would say,
+"Blessed be GOD for every herb of the field, but thrice blessed for
+those that smell."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[201]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>And at the end of the garden was set a bush of rosemary. "For," said
+the hermit, "to this we must all come." Because rosemary is the herb
+they scatter over the dead. And he knew where almost everything grew,
+and what he did not know the boy told him.</p>
+
+<p>Yet for all this, and though he had embraced poverty and solitude with
+joy, in the service of GOD and man, yet so bitter was blindness to
+him, that he bewailed the loss of his sight, with a grief that never
+lessened.</p>
+
+<p>"For," said he, "if it had pleased our Lord to send me any other
+affliction, such as a continual pain or a consuming sickness, I would
+have borne it gladly, seeing it would have left me free to see these
+herbs, which I use for the benefit of the poor. But now the sick
+suffer through my blindness, and to this boy also I am a continual
+burden."</p>
+
+<p>And when the boy called him at the hours of prayer, saying, "My
+Father, it is now time for the Nones office, for the marigold is
+closing," or, "The Vespers bell will soon sound from the valley, for
+the bindweed bells are folded," and the hermit recited the appointed
+prayers, he always added,</p>
+
+<p>"I beseech Thee take away my blindness, as Thou didst heal Thy servant
+the son of Timeaus."</p>
+
+<p>And as the boy and he sorted herbs, he cried,</p>
+
+<p>"Is there no balm in Gilead?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[202]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>And the boy answered, "The balm of Gilead grows six full paces from
+the gate, my Father."</p>
+
+<p>But the hermit said, "I spoke in a figure, my Son. I meant not that
+herb. But, alas! Is there no remedy to heal the physician? No cure for
+the curer?"</p>
+
+<p>And the boy's heart grew heavier and heavier day by day, because of
+the hermit's grief. For he loved him.</p>
+
+<p>Now one morning as the boy came up from the village, the hermit met
+him, groping painfully with his hands, but with joy in his
+countenance, and he said, "Is that thy step my Son? Come in, for I
+have somewhat to tell thee."</p>
+
+<p>And he said, "A vision has been vouchsafed to me, even a dream.
+Moreover, I believe that there shall be a cure for my blindness."</p>
+
+<p>Then the boy was glad, and begged of the hermit to relate his dream,
+which he did as follows&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"I dreamed, and behold I stood in the garden&mdash;thou also with me&mdash;and
+many people were gathered at the gate, to whom, with thy help, I gave
+herbs of healing in such fashion as I have been able since this
+blindness came upon me. And when they were gone, I smote upon my
+forehead, and said, 'Where is the herb that shall heal my affliction?'
+And a voice beside me said, 'Here, my Son,' And I cried to thee, 'Who
+spoke?' And thou saidst, 'It is a man in pilgrim's weeds, and lo, he
+hath a strange flower in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[203]</a></span> his hand.' Then said the Pilgrim, 'It is a
+Trinity Flower. Moreover, I suppose that when thou hast it, thou wilt
+see clearly.' Then I thought that thou didst take the flower from the
+Pilgrim and put it in my hand. And lo, my eyes were opened, and I saw
+clearly. And I knew the Pilgrim's face, though where I have seen him I
+cannot yet recall. But I believed him to be Raphael the Archangel&mdash;he
+who led Tobias, and gave sight to his father. And even as it came to
+me to know him, he vanished; and I saw him no more."</p>
+
+<p>"And what was the Trinity Flower like, my Father?" asked the boy.</p>
+
+<p>"It was about the size of Herb Paris, my son," replied the hermit.
+"But instead of being fourfold every way, it numbered the mystic
+Three. Every part was threefold. The leaves were three, the petals
+three, the sepals three. The flower was snow-white, but on each of the
+three parts it was stained with crimson stripes, like white garments
+dyed in blood."<a name="FNanchor_6_6" id="FNanchor_6_6"></a><a href="#Footnote_6_6" class="fnanchor">[6]</a></p>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_6_6" id="Footnote_6_6"></a><a href="#FNanchor_6_6"><span class="label">[6]</span></a> <i>Trillium erythrocarpum</i>. North America.</p></div>
+
+<p>Then the boy started up, saying, "If there be such a plant on the
+earth I will find it for thee."</p>
+
+<p>But the hermit laid his hand on him, and said, "Nay, my Son, leave me
+not, for I have need of thee. And the flower will come yet, and then I
+shall see."</p>
+
+<p>And all day long the old man murmured to himself, "Then I shall see."</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[204]</a></span></p><p>"And didst thou see me, and the garden, in thy dream, my Father?"
+asked the boy.</p>
+
+<p>"Ay, that I did, my Son. And I meant to say to thee that it much
+pleaseth me that thou art grown so well, and of such a strangely fair
+countenance. Also the garden is such as I have never before beheld it,
+which must needs be due to thy care. But wherefore didst thou not tell
+me of those fair palms that have grown where the thorn hedge was wont
+to be? I was but just stretching out my hand for some, when I awoke."</p>
+
+<p>"There are no palms there, my Father," said the boy.</p>
+
+<p>"Now, indeed it is thy youth that makes thee so little observant,"
+said the hermit. "However, I pardon thee, if it were only for that
+good thought which moved thee to plant a yew beyond the rosemary bush;
+seeing that the yew is the emblem of eternal life, which lies beyond
+the grave."</p>
+
+<p>But the boy said, "There is no yew there, my Father."</p>
+
+<p>"Have I not seen it, even in a vision?" cried the hermit. "Thou wilt
+say next that all the borders are not set with hearts-ease, which
+indeed must be through thy industry; and whence they come I know not,
+but they are most rare and beautiful, and my eyes long sore to see
+them again."</p>
+
+<p>"Alas, my Father!" cried the boy, "the borders<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[205]</a></span> are set with rue, and
+there are but a few clumps of hearts-ease here and there."</p>
+
+<p>"Could I forget what I saw in an hour?" asked the old man angrily.
+"And did not the holy Raphael himself point to them, saying, 'Blessed
+are the eyes that behold this garden, where the borders are set with
+hearts-ease, and the hedges crowned with palm!' But thou wouldst know
+better than an archangel, forsooth."</p>
+
+<p>Then the boy wept; and when the hermit heard him weeping, he put his
+arm round him and said,</p>
+
+<p>"Weep not, my dear Son. And I pray thee, pardon me that I spoke
+harshly to thee. For indeed I am ill-tempered by reason of my
+infirmities; and as for thee, <span class="smcap">God</span> will reward thee for thy goodness to
+me, as I never can. Moreover, I believe it is thy modesty, which is as
+great as thy goodness, that hath hindered thee from telling me of all
+that thou hast done for my garden, even to those fair and sweet
+everlasting flowers, the like of which I never saw before, which thou
+hast set in the east border, and where even now I hear the bees
+humming in the sun."</p>
+
+<p>Then the boy looked sadly out into the garden, and answered,</p>
+
+<p>"I cannot lie to thee. There are no everlasting flowers. It is the
+flowers of the thyme in which the bees are rioting. And in the hedge
+bottom there creepeth the bitter-sweet."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[206]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>But the hermit heard him not. He had groped his way out into the
+sunshine, and wandered up and down the walks, murmuring to himself,
+"Then I shall see."</p>
+
+<p>Now when the Summer was past, one Autumn morning there came to the
+garden gate a man in pilgrim's weeds; and when he saw the boy he
+beckoned to him, and giving him a small tuber root, he said,</p>
+
+<p>"Give this to thy master. It is the root of the Trinity Flower."</p>
+
+<p>And he passed on down towards the valley.</p>
+
+<p>Then the boy ran hastily to the hermit; and when he had told him, and
+given him the root, he said,</p>
+
+<p>"The face of the pilgrim is known to me also, O my Father! For I
+remember when I lay sick of the plague, that ever it seemed to me as
+if a shadowy figure passed in and out, and went up and down the
+streets, and his face was as the face of this pilgrim. But&mdash;I cannot
+deceive thee&mdash;methought it was the Angel of Death."</p>
+
+<p>Then the hermit mused; and after a little space he answered,</p>
+
+<p>"It was then also that I saw him. I remember now. Nevertheless, let us
+plant the root, and abide what <span class="smcap">God</span> shall send."</p>
+
+<p>And thus they did.</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;">
+<img class="img1" src="images/image_04.jpg" width="400" height="579" alt="He had groped his way out into the sunshine and
+wandered up and down the walks&mdash;Page 206"  />
+<span class="caption smcap">He had groped his way out into the sunshine and
+wandered up and down the walks.</span>
+</div>
+
+<p>And as the Autumn and Winter went by, the hermit became very feeble,
+but the boy constantly cheered <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[207]</a></span>him, saying, "Patience, my Father.
+Thou shalt see yet!"</p>
+
+<p>But the hermit replied, "My son, I repent me that I have not been
+patient under affliction. Moreover, I have set thee an ill example, in
+that I have murmured at that which <span class="smcap">God</span>&mdash;Who knowest best&mdash;ordained for
+me."</p>
+
+<p>And when the boy ofttimes repeated, "Thou shalt yet see," the hermit
+answered, "If <span class="smcap">God</span> will. When <span class="smcap">God</span> will. As <span class="smcap">God</span> will."</p>
+
+<p>And when he said the prayers for the Hours, he no longer added what he
+had added beforetime, but evermore repeated, "If <span class="smcap">Thou</span> wilt. When <span class="smcap">Thou</span>
+wilt. As <span class="smcap">Thou</span> wilt."</p>
+
+<p>And so the Winter passed; and when the snow lay on the ground the boy
+and the hermit talked of the garden; and the boy no longer
+contradicted the old man, though he spoke continually of the
+hearts-ease, and the everlasting flowers, and the palm. For he said,
+"When Spring comes I may be able to get these plants, and fit the
+garden to his vision."</p>
+
+<p>And at length the Spring came. And with it rose the Trinity Flower.
+And when the leaves unfolded, they were three, as the hermit had said.
+Then the boy was wild with joy and with impatience. And when the sun
+shone for two days together, he would kneel by the flower, and say, "I
+pray thee, Lord, send showers, that it may wax apace." And when it
+rained<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[208]</a></span> he said, "I pray Thee, send sunshine, that it may blossom
+speedily." For he knew not what to ask. And he danced about the
+hermit, and cried, "Soon shalt thou see."</p>
+
+<p>But the hermit trembled, and said, "Not as I will, but as <span class="smcap">Thou</span> wilt!"</p>
+
+<p>And so the bud formed. And at length one evening, before he went down
+to the hamlet, the boy came to the hermit and said, "The bud is almost
+breaking, my Father. To-morrow thou shalt see."</p>
+
+<p>Then the hermit moved his hands till he laid them on the boy's head,
+and he said,</p>
+
+<p>"The Lord repay thee sevenfold for all thou hast done for me, dear
+child. And now I pray thee, my Son, give me thy pardon for all in
+which I have sinned against thee by word or deed, for indeed my
+thoughts of thee have ever been tender." And when the boy wept, the
+hermit still pressed him, till he said that he forgave him. And as
+they unwillingly parted, the hermit said, "I pray thee, dear Son, to
+remember that, though late, I conformed myself to the will of <span class="smcap">God</span>."</p>
+
+<p>Saying which, the hermit went into his cell, and the boy returned to
+the village.</p>
+
+<p>But so great was his anxiety, that he could not rest; and he returned
+to the garden ere it was light, and sat by the flower till the dawn.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[209]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>And with the first dim light he saw that the Trinity Flower was in
+bloom. And as the hermit had said, it was white, and stained with
+crimson as with blood.</p>
+
+<p>Then the boy shed tears of joy, and he plucked the flower and ran into
+the hermit's cell, where the hermit lay very still upon his couch. And
+the boy said, "I will not disturb him. When he wakes he will find the
+flower." And he went out and sat down outside the cell and waited. And
+being weary as he waited, he fell asleep.</p>
+
+<p>Now before sunrise, whilst it was yet early, he was awakened by the
+voice of the hermit crying, "My Son, my dear Son!" and he jumped up,
+saying, "My Father!"</p>
+
+<p>But as he spoke the hermit passed him. And as he passed he turned, and
+the boy saw that his eyes were open. And the hermit fixed them long
+and tenderly on him.</p>
+
+<p>Then the boy cried, "Ah, tell me, my Father, dost thou see?"</p>
+
+<p>And he answered, "<i>I see now!</i>" and so passed on down the walk.</p>
+
+<p>And as he went through the garden, in the still dawn, the boy
+trembled, for the hermit's footsteps gave no sound. And he passed
+beyond the rosemary bush, and came not again.</p>
+
+<p>And when the day wore on, and the hermit did not return, the boy went
+into his cell.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[210]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Without, the sunshine dried the dew from paths on which the hermit's
+feet had left no prints, and cherished the spring flowers bursting
+into bloom. But within, the hermit's dead body lay stretched upon his
+pallet, and the Trinity Flower was in his hand.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[211]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="THE_KYRKEGRIM_TURNED_PREACHER" id="THE_KYRKEGRIM_TURNED_PREACHER"></a>THE KYRKEGRIM TURNED PREACHER.</h2>
+
+<h3>A Legend</h3>
+<p>It is said that in Norway every church has its own Niss, or Brownie.</p>
+
+<p>They are of the same race as the Good People, who haunt farmhouses,
+and do the maids' work for a pot of cream. They are the size of a
+year-old child, but their faces are the faces of aged men. Their
+common dress is of grey home-spun, with red peaked caps; but on
+Michaelmas Day they wear round hats.</p>
+
+<p>The Church Niss is called Kyrkegrim. His duty is to keep the church
+clean, and to scatter the marsh-marigold flowers on the floor before
+service. He also keeps order in the congregation, pinches those who
+fall asleep, cuffs irreverent boys, and hustles mothers with crying
+children out of church as quickly and decorously as possible.</p>
+
+<p>But his business is not with church-brawlers alone.</p>
+
+<p>When the last snow avalanche has slipped from the high-pitched roof,
+and the gentian is bluer than the sky, and Baldur's Eyebrow blossoms
+in the hot spring sun, pious folk are wont to come to church some
+time<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[212]</a></span> before service, and to bring their spades, and rakes, and
+watering-pots with them, to tend the graves of the dead. The Kyrkegrim
+sits on the Lych Gate and overlooks them.</p>
+
+<p>At those who do not lay by their tools in good time he throws pebbles,
+crying to each, "<i>Skynde dig!</i>" (Make haste!), and so drives them in.
+And when the bells begin, should any man fail to bow to the church as
+the custom is, the Kyrkegrim snatches his hat from behind, and he sees
+it no more.</p>
+
+<p>Nothing displeases the Kyrkegrim more than when people fall asleep
+during the sermon. This will be seen in the following story.</p>
+
+<p>Once upon a time there was a certain country church, which was served
+by a very mild and excellent priest, and haunted by a most active
+Kyrkegrim.</p>
+
+<p>Not a speck of dust was to be seen from the altar to the porch, and
+the behavior of the congregation was beyond reproach.</p>
+
+<p>But there was one fat farmer who slept during the sermon, and do what
+the Kyrkegrim would, he could not keep him awake. Again and again did
+he pinch him, nudge him, or let in a cold draught of wind upon his
+neck. The fat farmer shook himself, pulled up his neck-kerchief, and
+dozed off again.</p>
+
+<p>"Doubtless the fault is in my sermons," said the priest, when the
+Kyrkegrim complained to him. For he was humble-minded.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[213]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>But the Kyrkegrim knew that this was not the case, for there was no
+better preacher in all the district.</p>
+
+<p>And yet when he overheard the farmer's sharp-tongued little wife speak
+of this and that in the discourse, he began to think it might be so.
+No doubt the preacher spoke somewhat fast or slow, a little too loud
+or too soft. And he was not "stirring" enough, said the farmer's wife;
+a failing which no one had ever laid at her door.</p>
+
+<p>"His soul is in my charge," sighed the good priest, "and I cannot even
+make him hear what I have got to say. A heavy reckoning will be
+demanded of me!"</p>
+
+<p>"The sermons are in fault, beyond a doubt," the Kyrkegrim said. "The
+farmer's wife is quite right. She's a sensible woman, and can use a
+mop as well as myself."</p>
+
+<p>"Hoot, hoot!" cried the church owl, pushing his head out of the
+ivy-bush. "And shall she be Kyrkegrim when thou art turned preacher,
+and the preacher sits on the judgment seat? Not so, little Niss! Dust
+thou the pulpit, and leave the parson to preach, and let the Maker of
+souls reckon with them."</p>
+
+<p>"If the preacher cannot keep the people awake, it is time that another
+took his place," said the Kyrkegrim.</p>
+
+<p>"He is not bound to find ears as well as arguments,"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[214]</a></span> retorted the
+owl, and he drew back into his ivy bush.</p>
+
+<p>But the Kyrkegrim settled his red cap firmly on his head, and betook
+himself to the priest, whose meekness (as is apt to be the case)
+encouraged the opposite qualities in those with whom he had to do.</p>
+
+<p>"The farmer must be roused somehow," said he. "It is a disgrace to us
+all, and what, in all the hundreds of years I have been Kyrkegrim,
+never befell me before. It will be well if next Sunday you preach a
+stirring sermon on some very important subject."</p>
+
+<p>So the preacher preached on Sin&mdash;fair of flower, and bitter of
+fruit!&mdash;and as he preached his own cheeks grew pale for other men's
+perils, and the Kyrkegrim trembled as he sat listening in the porch,
+though he had no soul to lose.</p>
+
+<p>"Was that stirring enough?" he asked, twitching the sleeve of the
+farmer's wife as she flounced out after service.</p>
+
+<p>"Splendid!" said she, "and must have hit some folk pretty hard too."</p>
+
+<p>"It kept your husband awake this time, I should think," said the
+Kyrkegrim.</p>
+
+<p>"Heighty teighty!" cried the farmer's wife. "I'd have you to know my
+good man is as decent a body as any in the parish, if he does take a
+nap on Sundays! He is no sinner if he is no saint, thank<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[215]</a></span> Heaven, and
+the parson knows better than to preach at him."</p>
+
+<p>"Next Sunday," said the Kyrkegrim to the priest, "preach about
+something which concerns everyone; respectable people as well as
+others."</p>
+
+<p>So the preacher preached of Death&mdash;whom tears cannot move, nor riches
+bribe, nor power defy. The uncertain interruption and the only certain
+end of all life's labors! And as he preached, the women sitting in
+their seats wept for the dead whose graves they had been tending, and
+down the aged cheeks of the Kyrkegrim there stole tears of pity for
+poor men, whose love and labors are cut short so soon.</p>
+
+<p>But the farmer slept as before.</p>
+
+<p>"Do you expect to die?" asked the Kyrkegrim.</p>
+
+<p>"Surely," replied the farmer, "we must all die some day, and one does
+not need a preacher to tell him that. But it was a funeral sermon, my
+wife thinks. There has been bereavement in the miller's family."</p>
+
+<p>"Men are a strange race," thought the Kyrkegrim; but he went to the
+priest and said&mdash;"The farmer is not afraid of death. You must find
+some subject of which men really stand in awe."</p>
+
+<p>So when Sunday came round again, the preacher preached of
+Judgment&mdash;that dread Avenger who dogs the footsteps of trespass, even
+now! That awful harvest of whirlwind and corruption which<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[216]</a></span> they must
+reap who sow to the wind and to the flesh! Lightly regarded, but
+biding its time, till a man's forgotten follies find him out at last.</p>
+
+<p>But the farmer slept on. He did not wake when the preacher spoke of
+judgment to come, the reckoning that cannot be shunned, the trump of
+the Archangel, and the Day of Doom.</p>
+
+<p>"On Michaelmas Day I shall preach myself," said the Kyrkegrim, "and if
+I cannot rouse him, I shall give up my charge here."</p>
+
+<p>This troubled the poor priest, for so good a Kyrkegrim was not likely
+to be found again.</p>
+
+<p>Nevertheless he consented, for he was very meek, and when Michaelmas
+Day came the Kyrkegrim pulled a preacher's gown over his home-spun
+coat, and laid his round hat on the desk by the iron-clamped Bible,
+and began his sermon.</p>
+
+<p>"I shall give no text," said he, "but when I have said what seems good
+to me, it is for those who hear to see if the Scriptures bear me out."</p>
+
+<p>This was an uncommon beginning, and most of the good folk pricked
+their ears, the farmer among them, for novelty is agreeable in church
+as elsewhere.</p>
+
+<p>"I speak," said the Kyrkegrim, "of that which is the last result of
+sin, the worst of deaths, and the beginning of judgment&mdash;hardness of
+heart."</p>
+
+<p>The farmer looked a little uncomfortable, and the Kyrkegrim went
+bravely on.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[217]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Let us seek examples in Scripture. We will speak of Pharaoh."</p>
+
+<p>But when the Kyrkegrim spoke of Pharaoh the farmer was at ease again.
+And by-and-bye a film stole gently before his eyes, and he nodded in
+his seat.</p>
+
+<p>This made the Kyrkegrim very angry, for he did not wish to give up his
+place, and yet a Niss may not break his word.</p>
+
+<p>"Let us look at the punishment of Pharaoh," he cried. But the farmer's
+eyes were still closed, and the Kyrkegrim became agitated, and turned
+hastily over the leaves of the iron-clamped Bible before him.</p>
+
+<p>"We will speak of the plagues," said he. "The plague of blood, the
+plague of frogs, the plague of lice, the plague of flies&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>At this moment the farmer snored.</p>
+
+<p>For a brief instant anger and dismay kept the Kyrkegrim silent. Then
+shutting the iron clamps he pushed the Book on one side, and
+scrambling on to a stool, stretched his little body well over the
+desk, and said, "But these flies were as nothing to the fly that is
+coming in the turnip-crop!"</p>
+
+<p>The words were hardly out of his mouth when the farmer sat suddenly
+upright and half rising from his place, cried anxiously, "Eh, what
+sir? What does he say, wife? A new fly among the turnips?"</p>
+
+<p>"Ah, soul of clay!" yelled the indignant Kyrkegrim,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[218]</a></span> as he hurled his
+round hat at the gaping farmer. "Is it indeed for such as thee that
+Eternal Life is kept in store?"</p>
+
+<p>And drawing the preacher's gown over his head, he left it in the
+pulpit, and scrambling down the steps hastened out of church.</p>
+
+<hr style='width: 45%;' />
+
+<p>As he had been successful in rousing the sleepy farmer the Kyrkegrim
+did not abandon his duties; but it is said that thenceforward he kept
+to them alone, and left heavier responsibilities in higher hands.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[219]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="LADDERS_TO_HEAVEN" id="LADDERS_TO_HEAVEN"></a>LADDERS TO HEAVEN.<a name="FNanchor_7_7" id="FNanchor_7_7"></a><a href="#Footnote_7_7" class="fnanchor">[7]</a></h2>
+
+<h3>A Legend.</h3>
+<p>There was a certain valley in which the grass was very green, for it
+was watered by a stream which never failed; and once upon a time
+certain pious men withdrew from the wide world and from their separate
+homes, and made a home in common, and a little world for themselves,
+in the valley where the grass was green.</p>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_7_7" id="Footnote_7_7"></a><a href="#FNanchor_7_7"><span class="label">[7]</span></a> "Ladders to Heaven" was an old name for Lilies of the
+Valley.</p></div>
+
+<p>The world outside, in those days, was very rough and full of wars; but
+the little world in the Green Valley was quiet and full of peace. And
+most of these men who had taken each other for brothers, and had made
+one home there, were happy, and being good deserved to be so. And some
+of them were good with the ignorant innocence of children, and there
+were others who had washed their robes and made them white in the
+Blood of the Lamb.</p>
+
+<p>Brother Benedict was so named, because where he came blessings
+followed. This was said of him, from <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[220]</a></span>a child, when the babies stopped
+crying if he ran up to them, and when on the darkest days old women
+could see sunbeams playing in his hair. He had always been fond of
+flowers, and as there were not many things in the Brotherhood of the
+Green Valley on which a man could full-spend his energies, when
+prayers were said, and duties done, Brother Benedict spent the balance
+of his upon the garden. And he grew herbs for healing, and plants that
+were good for food, and flowers that were only pleasant to the eyes;
+and where he sowed he reaped, and what he planted prospered, as if
+blessings followed him.</p>
+
+<p>In time the fame of his flowers spread beyond the valley, and people
+from the world outside sent to beg plants and seeds of him, and sent
+him others in return. And he kept a roll of the plants that he
+possessed, and the list grew longer with every Autumn and every
+Spring; so that the garden of the monastery became filled with rare
+and curious things, in which Brother Benedict took great pride.</p>
+
+<p>The day came when he thought that he took too much pride. For he said,
+"The cares of the garden are, after all, cares of this world, and I
+have set my affections upon things of the earth," And at last it so
+troubled him that he obtained leave to make a pilgrimage to the cell
+of an old hermit, whose wisdom was much esteemed, and to him he told
+his fears.</p>
+
+<p>But when Brother Benedict had ended his tale, the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[221]</a></span> old man said, "Go
+in peace. What a man labors for he must love, if he be made in the
+image of his Maker; for He rejoices in the works of His hands."</p>
+
+<p>So Brother Benedict returned, and his conscience was at ease till the
+Autumn, when a certain abbot, who spent much care and pains upon his
+garden, was on a journey, and rested at the Monastery of the Green
+Valley. And it appeared that he had more things in his garden than
+Brother Benedict, for the abbey was very rich, and he had collected
+far and near. And Brother Benedict was jealous for the garden of the
+monastery, and then he was wrath with himself for his jealousy; and
+when the abbot had gone he obtained leave, and made a pilgrimage to
+the cell of the hermit and told him all. And the old man, looking at
+him, loved him, and he said:</p>
+
+<p>"My son, a man may bind his soul with fine-drawn strands till it is
+either entangled in a web or breaks all bonds. Gird thyself with one
+strong line, and let little things go by."</p>
+
+<p>And Benedict said, "With which line?"</p>
+
+<p>And the hermit answered, "What said Augustine? 'Love, and do what thou
+wilt.' If therefore thy labors and thy pride be for others, and not
+for thyself, have no fear. He who lives for <span class="smcap">God</span> and for his neighbors
+may forget his own soul in safety, and shall find it hereafter; for
+for such a spirit&mdash;of the toils and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[222]</a></span> pains and pleasures of this
+life&mdash;grace shall alike build Ladders unto Heaven."</p>
+
+<p>Then Benedict bowed his head, and departed; and when he reached home
+he found a messenger who had ridden for many days, and who brought him
+a bundle of roots, and a written message, which ran thus:</p>
+
+<p>"These roots, though common with us, are unknown where thou dwellest.
+It is a lily, as white and as fragrant as the Lily of the
+Annunciation, but much smaller. Beautiful as it is, it is hardy, and
+if planted in a damp spot and left strictly undisturbed it will spread
+and flourish like a weed. It hath a rare and delicate perfume, and
+having white bells on many footstalks up the stem, one above the
+other, as the angels stood in Jacob's dream, the common children call
+it Ladders to Heaven."</p>
+
+<p>And when Brother Benedict read the first part of the letter he laughed
+hastily, and said, "The abbot hath no such lily." But when he had
+finished it, he said, "<span class="smcap">God</span> rid my soul of self-seeking! The common
+children shall have them, and not I."</p>
+
+<p>And, seizing the plants and a spade, he ran out beyond the bounds of
+the monastery, and down into a little copse where the earth was kept
+damp by the waters of the stream which never failed. And there he
+planted the roots, and as he turned to go away he said, "The blessing
+of our Maker rest on thee! And give joy of thy loveliness, and
+pleasure of thy perfume, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[223]</a></span>to others when I am gone. And let him who
+enjoys remember the soul of him who planted thee."</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;">
+<img class="img1" src="images/image_05.jpg" width="400" height="594" alt="Brother Benedict blesses the flowers."  />
+<span class="caption smcap">Brother Benedict blesses the flowers.</span>
+</div>
+
+<p>And he covered his face with his hands, and went back to the
+monastery. And he did not enter the new plant upon his roll, for he
+had no such lily in his garden.</p>
+
+<hr style='width: 45%;' />
+
+<p>Brother Benedict's soul had long departed, when in times of turbulence
+and change, the monastery was destroyed, and between fire and plunder
+and reckless destruction everything perished, and even the garden was
+laid waste. But no one touched the Lilies of the Valley in the copse
+below, for they were so common that they were looked upon as weeds.
+And though nothing remained of the brotherhood but old tales, these
+lingered, and were handed on; and when the children played with the
+lilies and bickered over them, crying, "My ladder has twelve white
+angels and yours has only eight," they would often call them Brother
+Benedict's flowers, adding, "but the real right name of them is
+Ladders to Heaven."</p>
+
+<p>And after a time a new race came into the Green Valley and filled it;
+and the stream which never failed turned many wheels, and trades were
+brisk, and they were what are called black trades. And men made money
+soon, and spent it soon, and died soon; and in the time between each
+lived for himself, and had little reverence for those who were gone,
+and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[224]</a></span> less concern for those who should come after. And at first they
+were too busy to care for what is only beautiful, but after a time
+they built smart houses, and made gardens, and went down into the
+copse and tore up clumps of Brother Benedict's flowers, and planted
+them in exposed rockeries, and in pots in dry hot parlors, where they
+died, and then the good folk went back for more; and no one reckoned
+if he was taking more than his fair share, or studied the culture of
+what he took away, or took the pains to cover the roots of those he
+left behind, and in three years there was not left a Ladder to Heaven
+in all the Green Valley.</p>
+
+<hr style='width: 45%;' />
+
+<p>The Green Valley had long been called the Black Valley, when those who
+labored and grew rich in it awoke&mdash;as man must sooner or later
+awake&mdash;to the needs of the spirit above the flesh. They were a race
+famed for music, and they became more so. The love of beauty also
+grew, and was cultivated, and in time there were finer flowers
+blossoming in that smoky air than under many brighter skies. And with
+the earnings of their grimy trades they built a fine church, and
+adorned it more richly than the old church of the monastery, that had
+been destroyed.</p>
+
+<p>The parson who served this church and this people was as well-beloved
+by them as Brother Benedict<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[225]</a></span> had been in his day, and it was in
+striving to link their minds with sympathies of the past as well as
+hopes of the future, that one day he told them the legend of the
+Ladders to Heaven. A few days afterwards he was wandering near the
+stream, when he saw two or three lads with grimy faces busily at work
+in the wood through which the stream ran. At first, when he came
+suddenly on them, they looked shyly at one another, and at last one
+stood up and spoke.</p>
+
+<p>"It's a few lily roots, sir, we got in the market, and we're planting
+them; and two or three of us have set ourselves to watch that they are
+not shifted till they've settled. Maybe we shall none of us see them
+fair wild here again, any more than Brother Benedict did. For black
+trades are short-lived trades, and there's none of us will be as old
+as he. But maybe we can take a pride too in thinking that they'll blow
+for other folk and other folk's children when we are gone."</p>
+
+<hr style='width: 45%;' />
+
+<p>Once more the fastidious<a name="FNanchor_8_8" id="FNanchor_8_8"></a><a href="#Footnote_8_8" class="fnanchor">[8]</a> flowers spread, and became common in the
+valley, and were guarded with jealous care; and the memory of Brother
+Benedict lingered by the stream, and was doubly blessed.</p>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_8_8" id="Footnote_8_8"></a><a href="#FNanchor_8_8"><span class="label">[8]</span></a> It is well known that Lilies of the Valley are flowers
+which resent disturbance, though they are perfectly hardy and vigorous
+if left in peace.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[226]</a></span></p></div>
+
+<p>For if he is blessed whose love and wisdom add to the world's worth,
+and make life richer in pleasant things, thrice blessed is he whose
+unselfish example shall be culture to the ignorant or the thoughtless,
+and set Ladders to Heaven for the feet of those who follow him!</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[227]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="SUNFLOWERS_AND_A_RUSHLIGHT" id="SUNFLOWERS_AND_A_RUSHLIGHT"></a>SUNFLOWERS AND A RUSHLIGHT.</h2>
+
+<h3>CHAPTER I.</h3>
+<div class="blockquot"><p>"A MAN NAMED SOLOMON." JAEL AND THE CHINA POODLE. JOHNSON'S
+DICTIONARY. NAIL-SPOTS. FAMILY BEREAVEMENTS. A FAMILY DOCTOR. THE
+BOOKS IN THE ATTIC. A PUZZLING TALE. "A JOURNEY TO GO."</p></div>
+
+
+<p>Doctor Brown is our doctor. He lives in our village, at the top of the
+hill.</p>
+
+<p>When we were quite little, and had scarlet-fever, and measles, and
+those things, Dr. Brown used to be very kind to us, and dress his
+first finger up in his pocket-handkerchief with a knot for the turban,
+and rings on his thumb and middle finger, and do&mdash;"At the top of a
+hill lived a man named Solomon," in a hollow voice, which frightened
+me rather.</p>
+
+<p>And then he used to say&mdash;"Wise man, Solomon! He lived at the top of a
+hill," and laugh till his face got redder than usual, and his eyes
+filled with laughter-tears, and twinkled in the nice way they do, and
+I was not frightened any more.</p>
+
+<p>Dr. Brown left off being our doctor once. That was when he and
+Grandmamma quarrelled. But they made it up again.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[228]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>It was when I was so unhappy&mdash;I tried to help it, but I really could
+not&mdash;about my poor dear white china-poodle (Jael broke him when she
+was dusting, and then she swept up his tail, though I have so begged
+her to keep the bits when she cleans our room, and breaks things; and
+now he never never can be mended, all the days of my life):&mdash;it was
+when I was crying about him, and Grandmamma told Dr. Brown how silly I
+was, to make me feel ashamed, that he said&mdash;"There are some tempers,
+which, if they haven't enough people to love, will love things."</p>
+
+<p>Margery says he did not say <i>tempers</i> but <i>temperaments</i>. I know it
+began with temper, because it reminded me of Jael, who said "them
+tears is all temper, Miss Grace," which was very hard, because she
+knew&mdash;she knew quite well&mdash;it was about my poodle; and though
+accidents will happen, she need not have swept up his tail.</p>
+
+<p>Margery is sure to be right. She always is. Besides, we looked it out
+in Johnson's Dictionary, which we are rather fond of, though it is
+very heavy to lift. We like the bits out of books, in small print; but
+I could not understand the bits to the word <i>temperament</i>, and I do
+not think Margery could either, though she can understand much more
+than I can.</p>
+
+<p>There is a very odd bit to the word <i>temperamental</i>, and it is signed
+<i>Brown</i>; but we do not know if that means our Dr. Brown. This is the bit:
+"That<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[229]</a></span> <i>temperamental</i> dignotions, and conjecture of prevalent humours,
+may be collected from spots in our nails, we concede."&mdash;<i>Brown.</i></p>
+
+<p>We could not understand it, so we lifted down the other volume (one is
+just as heavy as the other), and looked out "Dignotion," and it means
+"distinction, distinguishing mark," and then there is the same bit
+over again, but at the end, is "<i>Brown's Vulgar Errors</i>." And we did
+not like to ask Dr. Brown if they were his vulgar errors, for fear he
+should think us rude. I thought we might perhaps ask him if they were
+his errors, and leave out <i>vulgar</i>, which is rather a rude word, but
+Margery thought it better not, and she is sure to be right. She always
+is.</p>
+
+<p>But we should have liked to ask Dr. Brown about it, if it had not been
+rude, because we think a good deal of spots on our nails. All we know
+about them is that you begin at your thumb, and count on to your
+little finger, in this way,</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"A Gift, a Beau,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A Friend, a Foe,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A Journey to go."<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>I like having a Beau, or a Friend; Margery likes a Gift or a Journey
+to go. We neither of us like having Foes.</p>
+
+<p>And it shows that it does come true, because Margery had a white spot
+in the middle of her left little finger nail, just when our father's
+old friend wrote to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[230]</a></span> Grandmamma, for one of us to go and pay him a
+visit; and Margery went, because she was the elder of the two.</p>
+
+<p>I do not know how I bore parting with her, except with hoping that she
+would enjoy herself, for she always had wanted so very much to have a
+journey to go. But if she had been at home, so that I could have taken
+her advice, I do not think I should have been so silly about the
+Sunflowers and the Rushlight.</p>
+
+<p>She says&mdash;"You'd have put on your slippers, and had a blanket round
+you at least. But, oh, my dear Grace, you always are so rash!"</p>
+
+<p>I did not know I was. I thought rash people were brave; and if I had
+been brave, the Rushlight would never have come out of the roof. Still
+Margery is sure to be right. I know I am very foolish and lonely
+without her.</p>
+
+<p>There are only two of us. Our father, and our mother, and our brother,
+all died of fever, nearly five years ago. We shall never see them
+again till we go to Paradise, and that is one reason why we wish to
+try to be good and never to be naughty, so that we may be sure to see
+them again.</p>
+
+<p>I remember them a little. I remember being frightened by sitting so
+high up on my father's shoulder, and then feeling so safe when I got
+into my mother's lap; and I remember Robin's curls, and his taking my
+woolly ball from me. I remember our black<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[231]</a></span> frocks coming in the
+hair-trunk with brass nails to the sea-side, where Margery and I were
+with our nurse, and her telling the landlady that our father and
+mother and brother were all laid in one grave. And I remember going
+home, and seeing the stone flags up in the yard, and a deep dark hole
+near the pump, and thinking that was the grave; and how Margery found
+me stark with fright, and knew better, and told me that the grave was
+in the church-yard, and that this hole was only where workmen had been
+digging for drains.</p>
+
+<p>And then never seeing those three, day after day, and having to do
+without them ever since!</p>
+
+<p>But Margery remembers a good deal more (she is three years older than
+I am). She remembers things people said, and the funeral sermon, and
+the books being moved into the attic, and she remembers Grandmamma's
+quarrel with Dr. Brown.</p>
+
+<p>She says she was sitting behind the parlor curtains with Mrs.
+Trimmer's Roman History, and Grandmamma was sitting, looking very
+grave in her new black dress, with a pocket handkerchief and book in
+her lap, and sherry and sponge biscuits on a tray on the piano, for
+visitors of condolence, when Dr. Brown came in, looking very grave
+too, and took off one of his black gloves and shook hands. Then he
+took off the other, and put them both into his hat, and had a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[232]</a></span> glass
+of sherry and a sponge biscuit, so Margery knew that he was a visitor
+of condolence.</p>
+
+<p>Then he and Grandmamma talked a long time. Margery does not know what
+about, for she was reading Mrs. Trimmer; but she thinks they were
+getting rather cross with each other. Then they got up, and Dr. Brown
+looked into his hat, and took out his gloves, and Grandmamma wiped her
+eyes with her pocket handkerchief, and said "I hope I know how to
+submit, but it has been a heavy judgment, Dr. Brown."</p>
+
+<p>And Margery was just beginning to cry too, when Dr. Brown said, "A
+very heavy judgment indeed, madam, for letting the cesspool leak into
+the well;" and it puzzled her so much that she stopped.</p>
+
+<p>Then Grandmamma was very angry, and Dr. Brown was angry too, and then
+Grandmamma said, "I don't know another respectable practitioner, Dr.
+Brown, who would have said what you have said this morning."</p>
+
+<p>And Dr. Brown brushed his hat the wrong way with his coat sleeve, and
+said, "Too true, madam! We are not a body of reformers, with all our
+opportunities; we're as bigoted as most priesthoods, but we count
+fewer missionary martyrs. The sins, the negligences, and the
+ignorances of every age have gone on much the same as far as we have
+been concerned,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[233]</a></span> though very few people keep family chaplains, and
+most folk have a family doctor."</p>
+
+<p>Then Grandmamma got very stiff, Margery says (she always is rather
+stiff), and said, "I am sorry, Dr. Brown, to hear you speak so ill of
+the members of an honorable profession, to which you yourself belong."</p>
+
+<p>And Dr. Brown found out that he had brushed his hat the wrong way, and
+he brushed it right, and said, "Not at all, madam, not at all! I think
+we're a very decent set, for men with large public responsibilities,
+almost entirely shielded from the wholesome light of public criticism,
+who handle more lives than most Commanders, and are not called upon to
+publish our disasters or make returns of our losses. But don't expect
+too much of us! I say we are not reformers. They rise up amongst us
+now and again; but we don't encourage them, we don't encourage them.
+We are a privileged caste of medicine-men, whose 'mysteries' are
+protected by the faith of those to whom we minister, a faith fortified
+by ignorance and fear. I wish you Good morning, madam."</p>
+
+<p>Margery has often repeated this to me. We call it "Dr. Brown's
+Speeches." She is very fond of spouting speeches, much longer ones
+than Dr. Brown's. She learns them by heart out of history books, and
+then dresses up and spouts them to me in our attic.</p>
+
+<p>Margery says she did not understand at the time what they were
+quarrelling about; and when, afterwards,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[234]</a></span> she asked Grandmamma what a
+cesspool was, Grandmamma was cross with her too, and said it was a
+very coarse and vulgar word, and that Dr. Brown was a very coarse and
+vulgar person. We've looked it out since in Johnson's Dictionary, for
+we thought it might be one of Dr. Brown's vulgar errors, but it is not
+there.</p>
+
+<p>Margery reads a great deal of history; she likes it; she likes all the
+sensible books in the attic, and I like the rest, particularly poetry
+and fairy tales.</p>
+
+<p>The books are mother's books, they belonged to her father. She liked
+having them all in the parlor, "littering the whole place," Jael says;
+but Grandmamma has moved them to the attic now, all but a volume of
+Sermons for Sunday, and the Oriental Annual, to amuse visitors if they
+are left alone. Only she says you never ought to leave your visitors
+alone.</p>
+
+<p>Jael is very glad the books were taken to the attic, because "they
+gather dust worse than chimney ornaments;" so she says.</p>
+
+<p>Margery and I are very glad too, for we are sent to play in the attic,
+and then we read as much as ever we like; and we move our pet books to
+our own corner and pretend they are our very own. We have very cosy
+corners; we pile up some of the big books for seats, and then make a
+bigger pile in front of us for tables, and there we sit.</p>
+
+<p>Once Dr. Brown found us. We had got whooping<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[235]</a></span> cough, and he had come
+to see if we were better; and he is very big, and he tramped so
+heavily on the stairs I did really think he was a burglar; and Margery
+was a little frightened too, so we were very glad to see him; and when
+he saw us reading at our tables, he said, "So this is the Attic salt
+ye season life with, is it?" And then he laughed just as he always
+does.</p>
+
+<p>There is one story in my favorite Fairy Book which Margery likes too;
+it is called "A Puzzling Tale." I read it to Margery when we were
+sitting in our tree seat in the garden, and I put my hand over the
+answer to the puzzle, and she could not guess; and if Margery could
+not guess, I do not think any one else could.</p>
+
+<p>This is the tale:&mdash;"Three women were once changed into flowers, and
+grew in a field: but one was permitted to go home at night. Once, when
+day was dawning, and she was about to return to her companions in the
+field and become a flower again, she said to her husband, 'In the
+morning come to the field and pick me off my stalk, then I shall be
+released, and able to live at home for the future.' So the husband
+went to the field as he was told, and picked his wife and took her
+home."</p>
+
+<p>"Now how did he know his wife's flower from the other two, for all the
+three flowers were alike?"</p>
+
+<p>(That is the Puzzle. This is the answer):<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[236]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"<i>He knew his wife because there was no dew upon her flower.</i>"</p>
+
+<p>There is a very nice picture of the three flowers standing stiff and
+upright, with leaves held out like hands, and large round flower
+faces, all three exactly alike. I have looked at them again and again,
+but I never could see any difference; for you can't see the dew on the
+ones who had been out all night, and so you can't tell which was the
+one who was allowed to go home. But I think it was partly being so
+fond of those round flower faces in the Puzzling Tale, that made me
+get so very very fond of Sunflowers.</p>
+
+<p>We have splendid Sunflowers in our garden, so tall, and with such
+large round faces!</p>
+
+<p>The Sunflowers were in bloom when Margery went away. She bade them
+good bye, and kissed her hands to them as well as to me. She went away
+in a cab, with her things in the hair trunk with brass nails on the
+top. She waved her hand to me as long as ever I could see her, and she
+wagged one finger particularly. I knew which finger it was, and what
+she meant. It was the little finger with that dignotion on the nail,
+which showed that she had a journey to go.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[237]</a></span></p>
+
+
+<h3>CHAPTER II.</h3>
+<div class="blockquot"><p>"ON THE WING. SUNFLOWER SAINTS. DEW-DRENCHED. A BAD NIGHT. A BAD
+HEADACHE. REGULAR REGIMEN IN GRANDMAMMA'S YOUNG DAYS. TIRED
+NATURE'S SWEET RESTORER. A SINFUL WASTE OF CANDLE GREASE."</p></div>
+
+
+<p>The Sunflowers were in bloom when Margery went away; and the swallows
+were on the wing. The garden was full of them all the morning, and
+when she had gone, they went too. They had been restless for days
+past, so I dare say they had dignotions of their own, that they had a
+journey to go as well as Margery.</p>
+
+<p>But when they were gone, and she was gone, the garden felt very
+lonely. The Sunflowers stretched out their round faces just as if they
+were looking to see if the cab was coming back; and there was a robin,
+which kept hopping on and off the pump and peeping about with his
+eyes, as if he could not imagine what had become of all the swallows.</p>
+
+<p>And Margery's black cat came and mewed to me, and rubbed itself
+against my pinafore, and walked up and down with me till I went in and
+got the "Ancient Mariner" and my little chair, and came back and read
+to the Sunflowers.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[238]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Sunflowers are quite as good as dolls to play with. Margery and I
+think them better in some ways. You can't move them about unless you
+pick them; but then they will stand of themselves, which dolls will
+not. You can give them names just as well, and you can teach them
+lessons just as well. They will grow, which dolls won't; and they
+really live and die, which dolls don't. In fact, for tallness, they
+are rather like grown up people. Then more come out, which is nice;
+and you see the little Sunflowers growing into big ones, which you
+can't see with dolls.</p>
+
+<p>We can play a Sunday game with the Sunflowers. We do not have any of
+our toys on Sunday, except in winter, when we have Noah's Ark. In the
+summer we may go in the garden between the services, and we always
+walk up and down together and play with the Sunflowers.</p>
+
+<p>The Sunday Sunflower game is calling them after the black-letter
+saints in the Kalendar, and reading about them in a very old book&mdash;a
+big one with a black leather binding&mdash;in the attic, called "Lives of
+the Saints." I read, and then I tell it to Margery as we walk up and
+down, and say&mdash;"This is S. Prisca, this is S. Fabian, this is S.
+Agnes, this is S. Agatha, and this is S. Valentine"&mdash;and so on.</p>
+
+<p>What made us first think of having them for Saints on Sunday, was that
+the yellow does sometimes look so very like a glory round their faces.
+We choose<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[239]</a></span> by turns which name to give to each, but if there is a very
+big one with a lot of yellow flaming out, we always called him S.
+George of England, because there is a very old figure of S. George
+slaying the Dragon, in a painted window in our Church; and S. George's
+hair is yellow, and standing out all round; and when the sun shines
+through the window, so that you can't see his nose and his mouth at
+all clearly, he looks quite wonderfully like a Sunflower. Then on week
+days, the game I like best, is pretending that they are women changed
+into flowers.</p>
+
+<p>They feel so grown up with being so tall, that they are much more like
+grown up people turned into flowers than like children. I pretend my
+doll is my child when I play with her; but I don't think I could
+pretend a Sunflower was my child; and sometimes if Margery leaves me
+alone with rather big Sunflowers, when it is getting dusk, and I look
+up at them, and they stare at me with their big faces in the twilight,
+I get so frightened for fear they should have got leave to go home at
+night, <i>and be just turning</i>, that I run indoors as hard as ever I
+can.</p>
+
+<p>Two or three times I have got up early and gone out to see if any one
+of them had no dew; but they have always been drenched, every one of
+them. Dew, thick over their brown faces, and rolling like tears down
+their yellow glories. I am quite sure that I have never seen a
+Sunflower yet, that had had leave<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[240]</a></span> to go home at night, and Margery
+says the same. And she is certain to know.</p>
+
+<p>I had a very bad night, the night after Margery went away. I was so
+terribly frightened with being alone in the dark. I know it was very
+silly, but it was most miserable. I was afraid to go and wake Jael,
+and I was more afraid of going to Grandmamma, and I was most of all
+afraid of staying where I was. It seemed to be years and years before
+the light began to come a little; and the noises left off creaking,
+and dropping, and cracking, and moving about.</p>
+
+<p>Next day I had a very bad headache. Jael does not like me when I have
+headaches, because I give trouble, and have to have hot water and
+mustard for my feet at odd times. Jael does not mind bringing up hot
+water at night; but she says she can't abide folk wanting things at
+odd times. So she does not like me when I have headaches; and when I
+have headaches, I do not much like her. She treads so very heavily, it
+shakes the floor just as ogres in ogre-stories shake the ground when
+they go out kidnapping; and then the pain jumps in my head till I get
+frightened, and wonder what happens to people when the pain gets so
+bad that they cannot bear it any longer.</p>
+
+<p>That morning, I thought I never should have got dressed; stooping and
+fastening things do make you<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[241]</a></span> so very bad. I was very late, and
+Grandmamma was beginning to scold me, but when she saw I had got a
+headache she didn't&mdash;she only said I looked like a washed-out pocket
+handkerchief; and when I could not eat any breakfast, she said I must
+have a dose of rhubarb and magnesia, and as she had not got any
+rhubarb left, she sent Jael up to Dr. Brown's to get some.</p>
+
+<p>I did not like having to take rhubarb and magnesia; but I was very
+glad to get rid of Jael for a bit, though I knew she would hate me for
+having had to take a message at an odd time. It was her shaking the
+room when she brought in the urn, and knocking the tongs into the
+fender with her dress as she went by, that had made me not able to eat
+any breakfast.</p>
+
+<p>Just as she was starting, Grandmamma beckoned to her to come back, and
+told her to call at the barber's, and tell him to come up in the
+afternoon to "thin" my hair.</p>
+
+<p>My hair is very thick. I brush as much out as I can; but I think it
+only gets thicker and thicker. Grandmamma says she believes that is
+what gives me so many headaches, and she says it is no use cutting it
+shorter, for it always is kept cut short; the only way is to thin it,
+that is, cutting lumps out here and there down to the roots. Thinning
+does make less of it; but when it grows again it is very difficult to
+keep tidy, which makes Jael say she "never see such<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[242]</a></span> a head, it's all
+odds and ends," and sometimes she adds&mdash;"inside <i>and</i> out." Margery
+can imitate Jael exactly.</p>
+
+<p>When Jael came back, she said Dr. Brown would step down and see me
+himself. So he came.</p>
+
+<p>Then he felt my pulse and asked me what sort of a night I had had, and
+I was obliged to tell him, and Grandmamma was very much vexed, and
+made me tell the whole truth, and she said I did not deserve any pity
+for my headaches when I brought them on myself, which is true.</p>
+
+<p>I think it was being vexed with me that made her vexed with Dr. Brown,
+when he said rhubarb and magnesia would not do me any good. She said
+she liked a regular system with the health of young people; and when
+she and her six sisters were girls they were physicked with perfect
+regularity; they were bled in the spring, and the fall of the leaf;
+and had their hair thinned and their teeth taken out, once a quarter,
+by the advice of their excellent friend and local practitioner, who
+afterwards removed to London, and became very distinguished, and had
+his portrait painted in oils for one of the learned societies. And
+Grandmamma said she had been spared to survive all her family, and had
+never had a headache in her life.</p>
+
+<p>Though my head was so bad, I listened as hard as I could to hear what
+Dr. Brown would say. For I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[243]</a></span> thought&mdash;"if he makes one of his speeches,
+they will quarrel, and he will leave off being our doctor again."</p>
+
+<p>But he didn't, he only said&mdash;"Well, well, madam, I'll send the child
+some medicine. Let her go and lie down at once, with a hot bottle to
+her feet, and as many pillows as she wants under her head; and don't
+let a sound reach her for the next three or four hours. When she
+wakes, give her a basin of bread and milk."</p>
+
+<p>So he went away, and presently he came back himself with the medicine.
+It tasted very nice, and he was very kind; only he made Jael so cross
+with saying she had not put boiling water in the hot bottle, and
+sending it down again; and then making her fetch more pillows out of
+the spare bedroom (Jael does not like odd things any more than odd
+times). But I never had such a hot bottle or such a comfortable
+headache before, and he pulled the blind down, and I went to sleep. At
+first I dreamt a little of the pain, and then I forgot it, and then
+slept like a top, for hours and hours.</p>
+
+<p>When I woke I found a basin of bread and milk, with a plate over it to
+keep it warm, on the rush-bottomed chair by the bed. It hadn't kept it
+very warm. It made me think of the suppers of the Three Bears in their
+three basins, and I daresay theirs were rather cold too. Perhaps their
+Jael boiled their bread and milk at her own time, whether they were
+ready for it or not.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[244]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>But I think mine must have been like the Little Bear's supper, for I
+ate it all up.</p>
+
+<p>My head was much better, so I went up to our attic, and got out the
+Fairy Book, that I might not think too much about Margery, and it
+opened of itself at the Puzzling Tale. I was just beginning to read
+it, when I heard a noise under the rafters, in one of those low sort
+of cupboard places that run all round the attic, where spare boxes and
+old things are kept, and where Margery and I sometimes play at Voyages
+of Discovery.</p>
+
+<p>I thought Margery's black cat must be shut up there, but when I went
+to look, there was another crash, and then the door burst open, and
+out came Jael, with her cap so crushed that I could not help laughing.</p>
+
+<p>I was glad to see her, for my head was well, so I liked her again, and
+did not mind her being ogre-footed, and I wanted to know what she was
+doing; but Jael had not got to like me again, and she spoke very
+crossly, and said it was more trouble of my giving, and that Dr. Brown
+had said that I was to have a light in my bedroom till Miss Margery
+came back&mdash;"if ever there was a sinful waste of candle-grease!" and
+that it wasn't likely the Mistress was going to throw away money on
+box night-lights; and she had sent the boy to the shop for
+half-a-dozen farthing rushlights&mdash;if they kept them, and if not, for
+half-a-<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[245]</a></span>pound of "sixteen" dips, and had sent her to the attic to find
+the old Rushlight-tin.</p>
+
+<p>"What's it like, Jael?"</p>
+
+<p>"It's like a Rushlight-tin, to be sure," said Jael. "And it's not been
+used since your Pa and Ma's last illness. So it's safe to be thick
+with dust, and a pretty job it is for me to have to do, losing the pin
+out of my cap, and tearing my apron on one of them old boxes, all to
+find a dirty old Rushlight, just because of <i>your</i> whims and fancies,
+Miss Grace!"</p>
+
+<p>"Jael, I am so sorry for your cap and apron. I will go in and find the
+Rushlight for you. Tell me, is it painted black, with a lot of round
+holes in the sides, and a little door, and a place like a candlestick
+in the middle? If it is, I know where it is."</p>
+
+<p>I knew quite well. It was behind a very old portmanteau, and a tin box
+with a wig and moths in it, and the bottom part of the shower-bath,
+just at the corner, which Margery and I call Bass's Straits. So I made
+a Voyage of Discovery, and brought it out, "thick with dust," as Jael
+had said.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[246]</a></span></p><p>And Jael took it, and went away very cross and very ogre-footed, with her
+cap still awry; and as she stumped down the attic-stairs, and kept
+clattering the Rushlight against the rails, I could hear her muttering&mdash;"A
+sinful waste of candle-grease&mdash;whims and fancies&mdash;scandilus!"</p>
+
+
+<h3>CHAPTER III.</h3>
+<div class="blockquot"><p>PAIN PAST. A REPRIEVE FROM THE BARBER. SUNFLOWER SLEEP. LITTLE
+MICHAELMAS GOOSE. SNUFFING A RUSHLIGHT. A PURSUIT OF KNOWLEDGE
+UNDER DIFFICULTIES. GRANDMAMMA WITH A WATCHMAN'S RATTLE.</p></div>
+
+
+<p>Jael's ogre-footsteps had hardly ceased to resound from the wooden
+stairs, when these shook again to the tread of Dr. Brown.</p>
+
+<p>He said&mdash;"How are you??" and I said&mdash;"Very happy, thank you," which
+was true. For the only nice thing about dreadful pain is that, when it
+is gone, you feel for a little bit as if you could cry with joy at
+having nothing to bear.</p>
+
+<p>Then I thanked him for asking Grandmamma to let me have the Rushlight
+till Margery came home; and he said I ought to be very much obliged to
+him, for he had begged me off the barber too. So I asked him if he
+thought my hair gave me headaches, and he felt it, and said&mdash;"No!"
+which I was very glad of. He said he thought it was more what I grew
+inside, than what I grew outside my head that did it, and that I was
+not to puzzle too much over books.</p>
+
+<p>I was afraid he meant the Puzzling Tale, so I told him it was very
+short, and the answer was given; so<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[247]</a></span> he said he should like to hear
+it&mdash;and I read it to him. He liked it very much, and he liked the
+picture; and I told him we thought they were Sunflowers, only that the
+glory-leaves were folded in so oddly, and we did not know why. And he
+said&mdash;"Why, because they're asleep, to be sure. Don't you know that
+flowers sleep as soundly as you do? <i>They</i> don't lie awake in the
+dark!"</p>
+
+<p>And then he shook with laughing, till he shook the red into his face,
+and the tears into his eyes, as he always does.</p>
+
+<p>Dr. Brown must know a great deal about flowers, much more than I
+thought he did; I told him so, and he said, "Didn't think I looked as
+like a flower sprite as yourself, eh? 'Pon my word, I don't think I'm
+unlike one of your favorites. Tall, ye know, big beaming face, eh?
+There are people more unlike a Sunflower than Dr. Brown! Ha! ha! ha!"</p>
+
+<p>He laughed, he always does; but he told me quite delightful things
+about flowers: how they sleep, and breathe, and eat, and drink, and
+catch cold in draughts, and turn faint in the sun, and sometimes are
+all the better for a change ("like Miss Margery," so he said), and
+sometimes are home-sick and won't settle ("which I've a notion might
+be one of your follies, Miss Grace"), and turn pale and sickly in dark
+corners or stuffy rooms. But he never knew one that went home at
+night.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[248]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Except for being too big for our chairs and tables, and for going
+voyages of discovery, I do think Dr. Brown would make a very nice
+person to play with; he seems to believe in fancy things, and he knows
+so much, and is so good-natured. He asked me what flower I thought
+Jael was like; and when I told him Margery could imitate her exactly,
+he said he must see that some day. I dared not tell him Margery can do
+him too, making his speeches in the shovel hat we found in an old hat
+box near Bass's Straits, and a pair of old black gloves of
+Grandmamma's.</p>
+
+<p>When he went away he patted my head, and said Margery and I must come
+to tea with him some day, and he would show us wonderful things in his
+microscope, and if we were very good, a plant that eats meat.</p>
+
+<p>"But most flowers thrive by 'eating the air,' as the Irish say, and
+you're one of 'em, Miss Grace. Do ye hear? You're not to bury yourself
+in this attic in the holidays. Run out in the garden, and play with
+your friends the Sunflowers, and remember what I've told you about
+their going to sleep and setting you a good example. It's as true as
+Gospel, and there's many a rough old gardener besides Dr. Brown will
+tell you that flowers gathered in the morning last longer than those
+gathered in the evening, because those are fresh after a night's nap,
+and these are tired and want to rest, and not to be taken into
+parlors,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[249]</a></span> and kept awake with candles. Good bye, little Michaelmas
+Goose!" And away he went, clomping downstairs, but not a bit like
+Jael.</p>
+
+<p>When bedtime came I was a good deal tired; but after I got into bed I
+kept my candle alight for a time, hoping Jael would bring the
+Rushlight and put it on the floor near Margery's bed, as I had asked
+her to do. But after a while I had to put out my candle, for
+Grandmamma is rather particular about it, and then I was so sleepy I
+fell asleep. I was awakened by a noise and a sort of a flashing, and I
+thought it was thunder and lightning, but it was only Jael; she had
+come stumping in, and was flashing the Rushlight about before my eyes
+to see if I was asleep, and when she saw I was, she wanted to take it
+away again, but I begged and prayed, and then I said Grandmamma had
+promised, and she always keeps her promises, and I should go and ask
+her. So at last Jael set it down by Margery's bed, and went away more
+ogre-footed than ever; grumbling and growling about the waste of
+candle-grease. But I had got the Rushlight, so I didn't mind; I only
+hugged my knees, and laughed, and lay down again. And when I heard
+Jael go stumping upstairs, I knew that she had waited till her own
+bedtime to bring the Rushlight, and that was why it was late. And I
+thought to-morrow I would tell Grandmamma, for she promised, and she
+always performs. She does<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[250]</a></span> not spoil us, we know, but she is always
+fair. Jael isn't, always.</p>
+
+<p>A Rushlight is a very queer thing. It looked so grim as it stood by
+Margery's bed, in a little round of light; rather like a ruined castle
+in the middle of a lake in the moonshine. A castle with one big door,
+and a lot of round windows with the light coming through. They made
+big spots and patches of light all about the room. I could not shut my
+eyes for watching them, for they were not all the same shape, and they
+kept changing and moving; at last they got so faint, I was afraid the
+Rushlight was going out, so I jumped up and went to see, and I found
+there was a very big thief in the candle, so I got the snuffers out of
+my candlestick, and snuffed it, and got into bed again; and now there
+were beautiful big moons of light all over Margery's bed-valance.</p>
+
+<p>Thinking of the thief in the Rushlight made me think of a thief in a
+castle, and then of thieves getting into our house, and that if one
+got in at my window I could do nothing except scream for help, because
+Grandmamma keeps the Watchman's Rattle under her own pillow, and locks
+her bedroom door. And then I looked at my window, and saw a bit of
+light, and it made me quite cold, for I thought it was a burglar's
+lantern, till I saw it was the moon.</p>
+
+<p>Then I knew how silly I was, and I determined that I would not be such
+a coward. I determined I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[251]</a></span> would not think of burglars, nor ghosts, nor
+even Margery.</p>
+
+<p>Margery and I are quite sure that we can think of things, and prevent
+ourselves thinking of things, by trying very hard. But it is rather
+difficult.</p>
+
+<p>I tried, and I did. I thought I would think of flowers, and of Dr.
+Brown, for he is very cheerful to think of. So I thought of
+Sunflowers, and how they eat the air, and go to sleep at night, and
+perhaps look like the three women in the Fairy Tale. And I thought I
+would always pick flowers in the morning now, and never at night, when
+they want to go to sleep and not to be woke up in a parlor with
+candles.</p>
+
+<p>And then I wondered: Would they wake with candles if they had begun to
+go to sleep? Would they wake with a jump, as I did, if Jael flashed
+the Rushlight in their faces? Would the moon wake them? Were they
+awake then, that very minute, like me, or asleep, as I was before Jael
+came in? Did they look like the picture in the Fairy Book, with their
+glory leaves folded over their faces? If I took a candle now, and held
+it before S. George of England, looking like that, would he wake with
+a start, and spread his glory leaves out all round, and stare at me,
+broad&mdash;wide awake?</p>
+
+<p>Then I thought how often I had gone out early, and wet my petticoats,
+to see if any of them had no dew on their faces, and that I had never
+gone out at<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[252]</a></span> night to see if they looked like the women in the Fairy
+Tale; and I wondered why I never had, and I supposed it was because I
+was silly, and perhaps afraid of going out in the dark.</p>
+
+<p>Then I remembered that it wasn't dark. There was a moon: besides my
+having a Rushlight.</p>
+
+<p>Then I wondered if I was very very silly, and why Dr. Brown had called
+me a Michaelmas Goose. But I remembered that it must be because
+to-morrow was the 29th of September.</p>
+
+<p>Then the stairs clock struck eleven.</p>
+
+<p>I counted all the strokes, and then I saw that the Rushlight was
+getting dim again, so I got up and snuffed it, and all the moons came
+out as bright as ever; but I did not feel in the least sleepy.</p>
+
+<p>I did not feel frightened any more. I only wished I knew for certain
+what Sunflowers look like when they are asleep, and whether you can
+wake them up with candles. And I went on wondering, and watching the
+moons.</p>
+
+<p>Then the stairs clock struck a quarter-past eleven, and I
+thought&mdash;"Oh, Grace! if you were not such a coward, if you had jumped
+up when the clock struck eleven, and slipped down the back stairs,
+with the Rushlight in your hands, and unlocked the side door, you
+might have run down the grass walk without hurting your feet, and
+flashed it in the faces of the Sunflowers, and had a good look, and
+got back to bed<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[253]</a></span> again before the clock struck a quarter-past; and
+then it would have been done, and couldn't be undone, and you would
+have known whether they look like the picture, and if they wake up
+with candles, and you never could have unknown. But now, you'll go on
+putting off, and being frightened about it, and perhaps to-morrow Jael
+will tell Grandmamma you were asleep, and she won't let you have a
+Rushlight any more, not even when you are a grown-up young lady; and
+even when you get married and go away, you may marry a man who won't
+let you have one; and so you may never know what you want to know, all
+because you're a Michaelmas Goose."</p>
+
+<p>Then the Rushlight began to get dim again, so I got up and snuffed it,
+and it shone out bright, and I thought "If it was Margery she would do
+it straight off. I won't be a Michaelmas Goose; I'll go while I'm up,
+and be back before the stairs clock strikes again, and then it will be
+done and can't be undone, and I shall know, and can't unknow."</p>
+
+<p>So I took up the Rushlight and went as fast as I could.</p>
+
+<p>I met a black beetle on the back stairs, which was horrid, but I went
+on. The side door key is very rusty and very stiff; I had to put down
+the Rushlight and use both my hands, and just then the clock struck
+the half-hour, which was rather a good thing, for it drowned the noise
+of the lock. It did not take me<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[254]</a></span> two minutes to run down the grass
+path, and there were the Sunflowers.</p>
+
+<p>I did it and it can't be undone, but I don't know what I wanted to
+know after all, for the moon was shining in their faces, so they may
+not have been really sound asleep. They are so tall, the Rushlight was
+too heavy for me to lift right up, so I opened the door and took out
+the candle, and flashed it in their faces. But they did not take as
+much notice as I expected. Their glory leaves looked rather narrow and
+tight, but they were not quite like the flower-women in the picture.</p>
+
+<p>Sunflowers are alive, I know; they look so different when they are
+dead. And I am sure they go to sleep, and wake up with candles, or Dr.
+Brown would not have said so. But it is rather a quiet kind of being
+alive and awake, I think. Something like Grandmamma, when she is very
+stiff on Sunday afternoon, and goes to sleep upright in a chair, and
+wakes up a little when her book drops. But not alive and awake like
+Margery's black cat, which must have heard me open the side door, and
+followed me without my seeing it. It did frighten me, with jumping out
+of the bushes, and looking at me with yellow eyes!</p>
+
+<p>Then I saw another eye. The eye of a moth, who was on one of the
+leaves. A most beautiful fellow! His colored wings were rather tight,
+like the Sunflower'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[255]</a></span>s glory leaves, but he was wide awake&mdash;watching
+the candle.</p>
+
+<p>I should have got back to bed quicker if it had not been for Margery's
+black cat and the night-moths. I wanted to get the cat into the house
+again, but she would not follow me, and the moths would; and I had
+such hard work to keep them out of the Rushlight.</p>
+
+<p>There was nothing to drown the noise the key made when I locked the
+side-door again, and when I got to the bottom of the back stairs, I
+saw a light at the top, and there was Grandmamma in the most awful
+night cap you can imagine, with a candle in one hand, and the
+watchman's rattle in the other.</p>
+
+
+<h3>CHAPTER IV.</h3>
+<div class="blockquot"><p>HEADS OFF! JAEL AND MASTER JOHN. FAREWELL. FRIEND IN NEED. A FREE
+PARDON.</p></div>
+
+
+<p>The worst of it was, I caught such a very bad cold, I gave more
+trouble than ever; besides Grandmamma having rheumatism in her back
+with the draught up the back stairs, and nothing on but her night
+things and the watchman's rattle. I knew I deserved to be punished,
+but I did not think my punishment would have been such a terrible
+one.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[256]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>I hoped it might have been lessons, or even, perhaps, not having the
+Rushlight again, but I did not think Grandmamma would think of hurting
+the Sunflowers.</p>
+
+<p>She waited till I was well enough to go out, and I really began to
+think she was going to be kind enough to forgive me, with a free
+forgiveness. But that day she called me to her, and spoke very
+seriously, and said, that to punish me for my misconduct, and to try
+and cure me of the babyish nonsense I gave way to about things, she
+had decided to have all the Sunflowers destroyed at once, and not to
+have any seed sown for new ones, any more. The gardener was to do it
+next morning, and I was to be there to see. She hoped it would make me
+remember the occasion, and teach me better sense for the future.</p>
+
+<p>I should have begged and prayed, but it is no use begging and praying
+to Grandmamma; Jael attends more to that. There was no comfort
+anywhere, except in thinking that Margery would be at home in two
+days, and that I could pour out all my sorrow to her.</p>
+
+<p>As I went crying down the passage I met Jael.</p>
+
+<p>"What's the matter now?" said she.</p>
+
+<p>"Grandmamma's going to have all the Sunflowers killed," I sobbed. "Oh,
+I wish I'd never gone to look at them with the Rushlight!"</p>
+
+<p>"That's how it is," said Jael sagely, "folks always<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[257]</a></span> wishes they'd
+done different when it's too late. But don't sob your heart out that
+fashion, Miss Grace. Come into the pantry and I'll give you a bit of
+cake."</p>
+
+<p>"Thank you, dear Jael, you're very kind, but I don't think I <i>could</i>
+eat cake. Oh Jael, dear Jael! Do you think she would spare one, just
+one?"</p>
+
+<p>"That she wouldn't, Miss Grace, so you needn't trouble your head about
+it. When your Grandmamma's made up her mind, there's no one ever I saw
+can move her, unless it be Dr. Brown. Besides, the missus has never
+much mattered those Sunflowers. They were your mamma's fancy, and
+she'd as many whims as you have, and put your Grandmamma about a good
+deal. She was always at your papa to be doing this and that to the
+place 'Wasting good money' as your Grandmamma said. Your papa was a
+very easy gentleman. He wanted to please his wife, and he wanted to
+please his mother. Deary me! I remember his coming to me in this very
+pantry&mdash;I don't know if it would be more than three months afore they
+were both taken&mdash;and, standing there, as it might be you, Miss Grace,
+and saying&mdash;'Jael,' he says, 'this window looks out on the yard,' he
+says; 'do you ever smell anything, Jael? You are here a good deal.'
+'Master John,' I says, 'I thank my Maker, my nose never troubles me;
+but if it did' I says, 'I hope I know better than to set <i>my</i>self up
+to smell more than my neighbors.'&mdash;'To be sure, to be<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[258]</a></span> sure,' he says,
+looking round in a foolish kind of a way at the sink. Then he says,
+'Jael, do you ever taste anything in the water? My wife thinks there's
+something wrong with the well.' 'Master John,' I says, 'with all
+respect to your good lady, she disturbs her mind a deal too much with
+books. An ounce of ex-perience, I say, is worth a pound of book
+learning; and I'll tell you what my father said to them parties that
+goes round stirring up stinks, when they were for meddling with his
+farm yard. "Let wells alone," he says, "and muck heaps likewise." And
+my father passed three-score years and ten, Master John, and died
+where he was born.' Well-a-day! I see your poor Pa now. He stood and
+looked as puzzled as a bee in a bottle. Then he says&mdash;'Well, Jael, my
+wife says Sunflowers are good against fevers; and there's no harm in
+sowing some.' Which he did that very afternoon, she standing by him,
+with her hand on his shoulder; but, bless ye, my dear! they were took
+long before the seeds was up. Your mother was a pretty woman, I'll say
+that for her. You'd never have thought it, to look at her, that she
+was so fond of poking in dirty places."</p>
+
+<p>"Jael!" I said, "Mamma was right about the smells in the back yard.
+Margery and I hold our noses"&mdash;"you'd a deal better hold your
+tongues," interrupted Jael.</p>
+
+<p>"We do, Jael, we do, because I don't like mustard<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[259]</a></span> plasters on my
+throat, and when the back yard smells a good deal, my throat is always
+sore. But oh, Jael! If Sunflowers are good for smells, don't you think
+we might tell Grandmamma, and she would let us have them for that?"</p>
+
+<p>"She'll not, Miss Grace," said Jael, "so don't worry on. They're
+ragged things at the best, and all they're good for is to fatten
+fowls; and I shall tell Gardener he may cut their heads off and throw
+'em to the poultry, before he roots up the rest."</p>
+
+<p>I could not bear to hear her, so I went out to bid the Sunflowers good
+bye.</p>
+
+<p>I held their dear rough stems, rough with nice little white hairs, and
+I knew how easily their poor heads would cut off, there is so much
+pith inside the stems.</p>
+
+<p>I kissed all their dear faces one after another. They are very nice to
+kiss, especially in the sun, for then they smell honey-sweet, like
+blue Scabious, and lots of flowers that have not much scent, but only
+smell as if bees would like them. I kissed them once round for myself,
+and then once for Margery, for I knew how sorry she would be.</p>
+
+<p>And it was whilst I was holding S. George of England's face in my two
+hands, kissing him for Margery, that I saw the Dignotion on my middle
+finger nail.</p>
+
+<p>A Gift, a Beau, <i>A Friend!</i>&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>And then it flashed into my mind, all in a moment<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[260]</a></span>&mdash;"There can be no
+friend to me and the Sunflowers, except Dr. Brown, for Jael says he is
+the only person who ever changes Grandmamma's mind."</p>
+
+<p>I dawdled that night when I could not make up my mind about going out
+with the Rushlight, but I did not wait one minute now. I climbed over
+the garden wall into the road, and ran as hard as I could run up to
+the top of the hill, where lived a man&mdash;I mean where Dr. Brown lived.</p>
+
+<p>Now, I know that he is the kindest person that ever could be. I told
+him everything, and he asked particularly about my throat and the
+smells. Then he looked graver than I ever saw him, and said, "Listen,
+little woman; you must look out for spots on your little finger-nails.
+You're going away for a bit, till I've doctored these smells. Don't
+turn your eyes into saucers. Margery shall go with you; I wish I could
+turn ye both into flowers and plant ye out in a field for three
+months! but you are not to give me any trouble by turning home-sick,
+do you hear? I shall have trouble enough with Grandmamma, though I am
+joint guardian with her (your dear mother's doing, that!), and have
+some voice in the disposal of your fates. Now, if I save the
+Sunflowers, will you promise me not to cry to come home again till I
+send for you?"</p>
+
+<p>"Shall you be able to change her mind, to let us have Sunflowers sown
+for next year, too?<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[261]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Yes!"</p>
+
+<p>"Then I promise."</p>
+
+<p>I could have danced for joy. The only thing that made me feel
+uncomfortable was having to tell Dr. Brown about the spot on my middle
+finger-nail. He would ask all about it, and so I let out about
+Johnson's Dictionary and the Dignotions, and Brown's Vulgar Errors,
+and I was afraid Margery would say I had been very silly, and let a
+cat out of a bag.</p>
+
+<p>I hope he was not vexed about his vulgar errors. He only laughed till
+he nearly tumbled off his chair.</p>
+
+<p>I never did have a spot on my journey-to-go nail, but we went away all
+the same; so I suppose Dignotions do not always tell true.</p>
+
+<p>When Grandmamma forgave me, and told me she would spare the Sunflowers
+this time, as Dr. Brown had begged them off, she said&mdash;"And Dr. Brown
+assures me, Grace, that when you are stronger you will have more
+sense. I am sure I hope he is right."</p>
+
+<p>I hope so, too!</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[262]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="TINYS_TRICKS_AND_TOBYS_TRICKS" id="TINYS_TRICKS_AND_TOBYS_TRICKS"></a>TINY'S TRICKS AND TOBY'S TRICKS.</h2>
+
+<h3>TINY.</h3>
+<p>"Oh Toby, my dear old Toby, you portly and princely Pug!</p>
+
+<p>"You know it's bad for you to lie in the fender:&mdash;Father says that's
+what makes you so fat&mdash;and I want you to come and sit with me on the
+Kurdistan rug.</p>
+
+<p>"Put your lovely black nose in my lap, and I'll count your great
+velvet wrinkles, and comfort you with kisses.</p>
+
+<p>"If you'll only keep out of the fender&mdash;Father says you'll have a fit
+if you don't!&mdash;and give good advice to your poor Little Missis.</p>
+
+<p>"Father says you are the wisest creature he knows, and you are but
+eight years old, and three months ago I was six.</p>
+
+<p>"And yet mother says I'm the silliest little girl that she ever met
+with, because I am always picking up tricks.</p>
+
+<p>"She does not know where I learnt to stand on one leg (unless it was
+from a goose), but it has made one of my shoulders stick out more than
+the other.</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 550px;">
+<img class="img1" src="images/image_06.jpg" width="550" height="374" alt="&quot;You know it is bad for you to lie in the fender.&quot;"  />
+<span class="caption smcap">&quot;You know it is bad for you to lie in the fender.&quot;</span>
+</div>
+
+<p>"It wasn't the goose who taught me to whistle up <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[263]</a></span>and down stairs. I
+learnt that last holidays from my brother.</p>
+
+<p>"The baker's man taught me to put my tongue in my cheek when I'm
+writing copies, for I saw him do it when he was receipting a bill.</p>
+
+<p>"And I learn't to wrinkle my forehead, and squeeze up my eyes, and
+make faces with my lips by imitating the strange doctor who attended
+us when we were ill.</p>
+
+<p>"It was Brother Jack himself who showed me that the way to squint is
+to look at both sides of your nose.</p>
+
+<p>"And then, Toby&mdash;would you believe it?&mdash;he turned round last holidays
+and said&mdash;'Look here, Tiny, if the wind changes when you're making
+that face it'll stay there, and remember you can't squint properly and
+keep your eye on the weathercock at the same time to see how it
+blows.'</p>
+
+<p>"But boys are so mean!&mdash;and I catch stammering from his school
+friend&mdash;'<i>Tut-tut-tut-tut-Tom</i>,' as we call him&mdash;but I soon leave it
+off when he goes.</p>
+
+<p>"I did not learn stooping and poking out my chin from any one; it came
+of itself. It is so hard to sit up; but mother says that much my worst
+trick.</p>
+
+<p>"Is biting my finger nails; and I've bitten them nearly all down to
+the quick.</p>
+
+<p>"She says if I don't lose these tricks, and leave off learning fresh
+ones, I shall never grow up like our pretty great-great-grandmamma.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[264]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Do you know her, dear Toby? I don't think you do. I don't think you
+ever look at pictures, intelligent as you are!</p>
+
+<p>"It's the big portrait, by Romney, of a beautiful lady, sitting
+beautifully up, with her beautiful hands lying in her lap.</p>
+
+<p>"Looking over her shoulder, out of lovely eyes, with a sweet smile on
+her lips, in the old brocade Mother keeps in the chest, and a pretty
+lace cap.</p>
+
+<p>"I should very much like to be like her when I grow up to that age;
+Mother says she was twenty-six.</p>
+
+<p>"And of course I know she would not have looked so nice in her picture
+if she'd squinted, and wrinkled her forehead, and had one shoulder
+out, and her tongue in her cheek, and a round back, and her chin
+poked, and her fingers all swollen with biting;&mdash;but, oh, Toby, you
+clever Pug! how am I to get rid of my tricks?</p>
+
+<p>"That is, if I must give them up; but it seems so hard to get into
+disgrace.</p>
+
+<p>"For doing what comes natural to one, with one's own eyes and legs,
+and fingers, and face."</p>
+
+
+<h3>TOBY.</h3>
+<p>"Remove your arms from my neck, Little Missis&mdash;I feel unusually
+apoplectic&mdash;and let me take two or three turns on the rug.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[265]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Whilst I turn the matter over in my mind, for never was there so
+puzzled a pug!</p>
+
+<p>"I am, as your respected Father truly observes, a most talented
+creature.</p>
+
+<p>"And as to fit subjects for family portraits and personal
+appearance&mdash;from the top of my massive brow to the tip of my curly
+tail, I believe myself to be perfect in every feature.</p>
+
+<p>"And when my ears are just joined over my forehead like a black velvet
+cap, I'm reckoned the living likeness of a late eminent divine and
+once popular preacher.</p>
+
+<p>"Did your great-great-grandmamma ever take a prize at a show? But let
+that pass&mdash;the real question is this:</p>
+
+<p>"How is it that what I am most highly commended for, should in your
+case be taken amiss?</p>
+
+<p>"Why am I reckoned the best and cleverest of dogs? Because I've picked
+up tricks so quickly ever since I was a pup.</p>
+
+<p>"And if I couldn't wrinkle my forehead and poke out my chin, and
+grimace at the judges, do you suppose I should ever have been&mdash;Class
+Pug. First Prize&mdash;Champion and Gold Cup?</p>
+
+<p>"We have one thing in common&mdash;I do <i>not</i> find it easy to sit up.</p>
+
+<p>"But I learned it, and so will you. I can't imagine worse manners than
+to put one's tongue in one's<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[266]</a></span> cheek; as a rule, I hang mine gracefully
+out on one side.</p>
+
+<p>"And I've no doubt it's a mistake to gnaw your fingers. I gnawed a
+good deal in my puppyhood, but chewing my paws is a trick that I never
+tried.</p>
+
+<p>"How you stand on one leg I cannot imagine; with my figure it's all I
+can do to stand upon four.</p>
+
+<p>"I balance biscuit on my nose. Do you? I jump through a hoop (an
+atrocious trick, my dear, after one's first youth&mdash;and a full
+meal!)&mdash;I bark three cheers for the Queen, and I shut the dining-room
+door.</p>
+
+<p>"I lie flat on the floor at the word of command&mdash;In short, I've as
+many tricks as you have, and every one of them counts to my credit;</p>
+
+<p>"Whilst yours&mdash;so you say&mdash;only bring you into disgrace, which I could
+not have thought possible if you had not said it.</p>
+
+<p>"Indeed&mdash;but for the length of my experience and the solidity of my
+judgment&mdash;this would tempt me to think your mamma a very foolish
+person, and to advise you to disobey her; but I do <i>not</i>, Little
+Missis, for I know</p>
+
+<p>"That if you belong to good and kind people, it is well to let them
+train you up in the way in which they think you should go.</p>
+
+<p>"Your excellent parents trained me to tricks; and very senseless some
+of them seemed, I must say:<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[267]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"But I've lived to be proud of what I've been taught; and glad too
+that I learned to obey.</p>
+
+<p>"For, depend upon it, if you never do as you're told till you know the
+reason why, or till you find that you must;</p>
+
+<p>"You are much less of a Prize Pug than you might have been if you'd
+taken good government on trust."</p>
+
+<hr style='width: 45%;' />
+
+<p>"Take me back to your arms, Little Missis, I feel cooler, and calmer
+in my mind.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, there can be no doubt about it. You must do what your mother
+tells you, for you know that she's wise and kind.</p>
+
+<p>"You must take as much pains to <i>lose your</i> tricks as I took to <i>learn
+mine</i>, long ago;</p>
+
+<p>"And we may all live to see you yet&mdash;'Class Young Lady. First Prize.
+Gold Medal&mdash;of a Show.'"</p>
+
+
+<h3>TINY.</h3>
+<p>"Oh, Toby, my dear old Toby, you wise and wonderful Pug!</p>
+
+<p>"Don't struggle off yet, stay on my knee for a bit, you'll be much
+hotter in the fender, and I want to give you a great, big hug.</p>
+
+<p>"What are you turning round and round for? you'll make yourself giddy,
+Toby. If you're looking for your tail, it is there, all right.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[268]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"You can't see it for yourself because you're so fat, and because it
+is curled so tight.</p>
+
+<p>"I daresay you could play with it, like Kitty, when you were a pup,
+but it must be a long time now since you've seen it.</p>
+
+<p>"It's rather rude of you, Mr. Pug, to lie down with your back to me,
+and a grunt, but I know you don't mean it.</p>
+
+<p>"I wanted to hug you, Toby, because I do thank you for giving me such
+good advice, and I know every word of it's true.</p>
+
+<p>"I mean to try hard to follow it, and I'll tell you what I shall do.</p>
+
+<p>"Nurse wants to put bitter stuff on the tips of my fingers, to cure me
+of biting them, and now I think I shall let her.</p>
+
+<p>"I know they're not fit to be seen, but she says they would soon
+become better.</p>
+
+<p>"I mean to keep my hands behind my back a good deal till they're well,
+and to hold my head up, and turn out my toes; and every time I give
+way to one of my tricks, I shall go and stand (<i>on both legs</i>) before
+the picture, and confess it to great-great-grand-mamma.</p>
+
+<p>"Just fancy if I've no tricks left this time next year, Toby! Won't
+that show how clever we are?</p>
+
+<p>"I for trying so hard to do what I'm told, and you for being so wise
+that people will say&mdash;'That sensible<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[269]</a></span> pug cured that silly little girl
+when not even her mother could mend her.'</p>
+
+<p>"&mdash;&mdash;Ah! Bad Dog! Where are you slinking off to?&mdash;Oh, Toby, darling!
+do, <i>do</i> take a little of your own good advice, and try to cure
+yourself of lying in the fender!"</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[270]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="THE_OWL_IN_THE_IVY_BUSH" id="THE_OWL_IN_THE_IVY_BUSH"></a>THE OWL IN THE IVY BUSH.</h2>
+
+<h3>OR, THE CHILDREN'S BIRD OF WISDOM.</h3>
+<h3>INTRODUCTION.</h3>
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Hoot toots, man, yon's a queer bird!"<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="f3">&mdash;<i>Bonnie Scotland.</i></p>
+
+
+<p>I am an Owl; a very fluffy one, in spite of all that that Bad Boy
+pulled out! I live in an Ivy Bush. Children are nothing to me,
+naturally, so it seems strange that I should begin, at my time of
+life, to observe their little ways and their humors, and to give them
+good advice.</p>
+
+<p>And yet it is so. I am the Friend of Young People. In my flight abroad
+I watch them. As I sit meditating in my Ivy Bush, it is their little
+matters which I turn over in my fluffy head. I have established a
+letter box for their communications at the Hole in the Tree. No other
+address will find me.</p>
+
+<p>It is well known that I am a Bird of Wisdom. I am also an Observing
+Bird; and though my young friends may think I see less than I do,
+because of my blinking, and because I detest that vulgar glare of
+bright light without which some persons do not seem able to see what
+goes on around them, I would<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[271]</a></span> have children to know that if I can
+blink on occasion, and am not apt to let every starer read my counsel
+in my eyes, I am wide awake all the same. I am on the look-out when
+it's so dark that other folk can't see an inch before their noses, and
+(a word to the foolish and naughty!) I can see what is doing behind my
+back. And Wiseacre, Observer, and Wide-awake&mdash;I am the Children's Owl.</p>
+
+<p>Before I open my mouth on their little affairs, before even I open my
+letters (if there are any waiting for me) I will explain how it came
+about that I am the Children's Owl.</p>
+
+<p>It is all owing to that little girl; the one with the fluffy hair and
+the wise eyes. As an Observer I have noticed that not only I, but
+other people, seem to do what she wants, and as a Wiseacre I have
+reflected upon it as strange, because her temper is as soft and fluffy
+as her hair (which mine is not), and she always seems ready to give
+way to others (which is never my case&mdash;if I can help it). On the
+occasion I am about to speak of, I could <i>not</i> help it.</p>
+
+<p>It was last summer that that Bad Boy caught me, and squeezed me into a
+wicker cage. Little did I think I should ever live to be so poked out,
+and rummaged, and torn to shreds by such a thing as a boy! I bit him,
+but he got me into the cage and put a cloth over it. Then he took me
+to his father, who took me to the front door of the house, where he is
+coachman<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[272]</a></span> and gardener, and asked for Little Miss to come out and see
+the new pet Tom had caught for her.</p>
+
+<p>"It's a nasty tempered brute, but she's such a one for taming things,"
+said the coachman, whipping off the cloth to show me to the housemaid,
+and letting in a glare of light that irritated me to frenzy. I flew at
+the housemaid, and she flew into the house. Then I rolled over and
+growled and hissed under my beak, and tried to hide my eyes in my
+feathers.</p>
+
+<p>"Little Miss won't tame me," I muttered.</p>
+
+<p>She did not try long. When she heard of me she came running out, the
+wind blowing her fluffy hair about her face, and the sun shining on
+it. Fluffed out by the wind, and changing color in the light and
+shade, the hair down her back is not entirely unlike the feathers of
+my own, though less sober perhaps in its tints. Like mine it makes a
+small head look large, and as she has big wise eyes, I have seen
+creatures less like an owl than Little Miss. Her voice is not so
+hoarse as mine. It is clear and soft, as I heard when she spoke:</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, <i>how</i> good of you! And how good of Tom! I do so love owls. I
+always get Mary to put the silver owl by me at luncheon, though I am
+not allowed to eat pepper. And I have a brown owl, a china one,
+sitting on a book for a letter weight. He came from Germany. And
+Captain Barton gave me an owl pencil-case on my birthday, because I
+liked hearing<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[273]</a></span> about his real owl, but, oh, I never hoped I should
+have a real owl of my own. It <i>was</i> kind of Tom."</p>
+
+<p>To hear that Bad Boy called kind was too much for endurance, and I let
+them see how savage I felt. If the wicker work had not been very
+strong the cage would not have held me.</p>
+
+<p>"He's a tartar," said the coachman.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, no, Williams!" said Little Miss, "he's only frightened by the
+light. Give me the cloth, please."</p>
+
+<p>"Take care, Miss. He'll bite you," cried the coachman, as she put the
+cloth over the cage, and then over her own head.</p>
+
+<p>"No, he won't! I don't mind his snapping and hissing. I want him to
+see me, and know me. Then perhaps he'll get to like me, and be tame,
+and sit on the nursery clock and look wise. Captain Barton's owl used
+to sit on his clock. Poor fellow! Dear old owlie! Don't growl, my owl.
+Can you hoot, darling? I should like to hear you hoot."</p>
+
+<p>Sometimes as I sit in my ivy bush, and the moon shines on the spiders'
+webs and reminds me of the threads of her hair, on a mild, sleepy
+night, if there's nothing stirring but the ivy boughs; sitting, I say,
+blinking between a dream and a doze, I fancy I see her face close to
+mine, as it was that day with the wicker work between. Our eyes
+looking at each other, and our fluffiness mixed up by the wind. Then I
+try to remember all the kind things she said to me<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[274]</a></span> to coax me to
+leave my ivy bush, and go to live on the nursery clock. But I can't
+remember half. I was in such a rage at the time, and when you are in a
+rage you miss a good deal, and forget a good deal.</p>
+
+<p>I know that at last she left off talking to me, and I could see her
+wise eyes swimming in tears. Then she left me alone under the cloth.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, Miss," said the coachman, "you don't make much of him, do ye?
+He's a Tartar, Miss, I'm afraid."</p>
+
+<p>"I think, Williams, that he's too old. Captain Barton's owl was a
+little owlet when he first got him. I shall never tame this one,
+Williams, and I never was so disappointed in all my life. Captain
+Barton said he kept an owl to keep himself good and wise, because
+nobody could be foolish in the face of an owl sitting on his clock. He
+says both his godfathers are dead, and he has taken his owl for his
+godfather. These are his jokes, Williams, but I had set my heart on
+having an owl on the nursery clock. I do think I have never wished so
+much for anything in the world as that Tom's owl would be our Bird of
+Wisdom. But he never will. He will never let me tame him. He wants to
+be a wild owl all his life. I love him very much, and I should like
+him to have what he wants, and not be miserable. Please thank Tom very
+much, and please ask him to let him go."</p>
+
+<p>"I'm sorry I brought him, Miss, to trouble you,"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[275]</a></span> said the coachman.
+"But Tom won't let him go. He'd a lot of trouble catching him, and if
+he's no good to you, Tom'll be glad of him to stuff. He's got some
+glass eyes out of a stuffed fox the moths ate, and he's bent on
+stuffing an owl, is Tom. The eyes would be too big for a pheasant, but
+they'll look well enough in an owl, he thinks."</p>
+
+<p>My hearing is very acute, and not a word of that Bad Boy's brutal
+intentions was lost on me. I shrunk among my feathers and shivered
+with despair; but when I heard the voice of Little Miss I rounded my
+ear once more.</p>
+
+<p>"No, Williams, no! He must not be stuffed. Oh, please beg Tom to come
+to me. Perhaps I can give him something to persuade him not. If he
+must stuff an owl, please, please let him stuff a strange owl. One I
+haven't made friends with. Not this one. He is very wild, but he is
+very lovely and soft, and I do so want him to be let go."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, Miss, I'll send Tom and you can settle it with him. All I say,
+he's a Tartar, and stuffing's too good for him."</p>
+
+<p>Whether she bribed Tom, or persuaded him, I don't know, but Little
+Miss got her way, and that Bad Boy let me go, and I went back to my
+Ivy Bush.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[276]</a></span></p>
+
+
+<h3>OWLHOOT I.</h3>
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"What can't be cured must be endured."<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="f3">&mdash;<i>Old Proverb.</i></p>
+
+
+<p>It was the wish to see Little Miss once more that led my wings past
+her nursery window; besides, I had a curiosity to look at the clock.</p>
+
+<p>It is an eight-day clock, in a handsome case, and would, undoubtedly,
+have been a becoming perch for a bird of my dignified appearance, but
+I will not describe it to-day. Nor will I speak of my meditations as I
+sit in my Ivy Bush like any other common owl, and reflect that if I
+had not had my own way, but had listened to Little Miss, I might have
+sat on an Eight-day Clock, and been godfather to the children. It is
+not seemly for an owl to doubt his own wisdom, but as I have taken
+upon me, for the sake of Little Miss, to be a child's counsellor, I
+will just observe, in passing, that though it is very satisfactory at
+the time to get your own way, you may live to wish that you had taken
+other folk's advice instead.</p>
+
+<p>From that nursery I have taken flight to others. I sail by the
+windows, and throw a searching eye through these bars which are, I
+believe, placed there<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[277]</a></span> to keep top-heavy babies from tumbling out.
+Sometimes I peer down the chimney. From the nook of a wall or the
+hollow of a tree, I overlook the children's gardens and playgrounds. I
+have an eye to several schools, and I fancy (though I may be wrong)
+that I should look well seated on the top of an easel&mdash;just above the
+black-board, with a piece of chalk in my feathery foot.</p>
+
+<p>Not that I have any notion of playing schoolmaster, or even of
+advising schoolmasters and parents how to make their children good and
+wise. I am the Children's Owl&mdash;their very own&mdash;and all my good advice
+is intended to help them to improve themselves.</p>
+
+<p>It is wonderful how children <i>do</i> sometimes improve! I knew a fine
+little fellow, much made of by his family and friends, who used to be
+so peevish about all the little ups and downs of life, and had such a
+lamentable whine in his voice when he was thwarted in any trifle, that
+if you had heard without seeing him, you'd have sworn that the most
+miserable wretch in the world was bewailing the worst of catastrophes
+with failing breath. And all the while there was not a handsomer,
+healthier, better fed, better bred, better dressed, and more dearly
+loved, little boy in all the parish. When you might have thought, by
+the sound of it, that some starving skeleton of a creature was moaning
+for a bit of bread, the young gentleman was only sobbing through the
+soap and lifting his voice<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[278]</a></span> above the towels, because Nurse would wash
+his fair and rosy cheeks. And when cries like those of one vanquished
+in battle and begging and praying for his life, rang through the hall
+and up the front stairs, it proved to be nothing worse than Master
+Jack imploring his friends to "<i>please, please</i>," and "<i>do, do</i>," let
+him stay out to run in a final "go as you please" race with the young
+Browns (who dine a quarter of an hour later), instead of going in
+promptly when the gong sounded for luncheon.</p>
+
+<p>Now the other day I peeped into a bedroom of that little boy's home.
+The sun was up, and so was Jack, but one of his numerous Aunts was
+not. She was in bed with a headache, and to this her pale face, her
+eyes shunning the light like my own, and her hair restlessly tossed
+over the pillow bore witness. When a knock came on the bedroom door,
+she started with pain, but lay down again and cried&mdash;"Come in!"</p>
+
+<p>The door opened, but no one came in; and outside the voices of the
+little boy and his nurse were audible.</p>
+
+<p>"I want to show her my new coat."</p>
+
+<p>"You can't, Master Jack. Your Aunt's got a dreadful headache, and
+can't be disturbed."</p>
+
+<p>No peevish complaints from Jack: only a deep sigh.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm very sorry about her headache; and I'm very very sorry about my
+coat. For I am going out, and it will never be so new again."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[279]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>His aunt spoke feebly.</p>
+
+<p>"Nurse, I must see his coat. Let him come in."</p>
+
+<p>Enter Jack.</p>
+
+<p>It was his first manly suit, and he was trying hard for a manly soul
+beneath it, as a brave boy should. He came in very gently, but with
+conscious pride glowing in his rosy cheeks and out of his shining
+eyes. His cheeks were very red, for a step in life is a warming thing,
+and so is a cloth suit when you've been used to frocks.</p>
+
+<p>It was a bottle-green coat, with large mother-o'-pearl buttons and
+three coachman's capes; and there were leggings to match. The beaver
+hat, too, was new, and becomingly cocked, as he stood by his Aunt's
+bedside and smiled.</p>
+
+<p>"What a fine coat, Jack!"</p>
+
+<p>"Made by a tailor, Auntie Julie. Real pockets!"</p>
+
+<p>"You don't say so!"</p>
+
+<p>He nodded.</p>
+
+<p>"Leggings too!" and he stuck up one leg at a sudden right angle on to
+the bed; a rash proceeding, but the boy has a straight little figure,
+and with a hop or two he kept his balance.</p>
+
+<p>"My dear Jack, they are grand. How warm they must keep your legs!"</p>
+
+<p>He shook his beaver hat.</p>
+
+<p>"No. They only tickles. That's what they do."</p>
+
+<p>There was a pause. His Aunt remembered the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[280]</a></span> old peevish ways. She did
+not want to encourage him to discard his winter leggings, and was
+doubtful what to say. But in a moment more his eyes shone, and his
+face took that effulgent expression which some children have when they
+are resolved upon being good.</p>
+
+<p>"&mdash;<i>and as I can't shake off the tickle, I have to bear it</i>," added
+the little gentleman.</p>
+
+<p>I call him the little gentleman advisedly. There is no stronger sign
+of high breeding in young people, than a cheerful endurance of the
+rubs of life. A temper that fits one's fate, a spirit that rises with
+the occasion. It is this kind of courage which the Gentlemen of
+England have shown from time immemorial, through peace and war, by
+land and sea, in every country and climate of the habitable globe.
+Jack is a child of that Empire on which the sun never sets, and if he
+live he is like to have larger opportunities of bearing discomfort
+than was afforded by the wooly worry of his bottle-green leggings. I
+am in good hopes that he will not be found wanting.</p>
+
+<p>Some such thoughts, I believe, occurred to his Aunt.</p>
+
+<p>"That's right, Jack. What a man you are!"</p>
+
+<p>The rosy cheeks became carmine, and Jack flung himself upon his Aunt,
+and kissed her with resounding smacks.</p>
+
+<p>A somewhat wrecked appearance which she presented<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[281]</a></span> after this
+boisterous hug, recalled the headache to his mind, and as he settled
+the beaver hat, which had gone astray, he said ruefully&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Is your headache <i>very</i> bad, Auntie Julie!"</p>
+
+<p>"Rather bad, Jack. <i>And as I can't shake it off, I have to bear it.</i>"</p>
+
+<p>He went away on tiptoe, and it was only after he had carefully and
+gently closed the bedroom door behind him, that he departed by leaps
+and bounds to show himself in his bottle-green coat and capes, and
+white buttons and leggings to match, and beaver hat to boot, first to
+the young Browns, and after that to the General Public.</p>
+
+<p>As an Observer, I may say that it was a sight worth seeing; and as a
+Bird of some wisdom, I prophesy well of that boy.</p>
+
+
+<h3>OWLHOOT II.</h3>
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling."<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="f3">&mdash;<i>The Raven.</i></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Taffy was a thief."&mdash;<i>Old Song.</i><br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p>I find the following letters at the Hole in the Tree.</p>
+
+<p><span class="f4">"X Lines, South Camp, Aldershot.</span></p>
+
+<p>"<span class="smcap">Sir</span>,&mdash;You speak with great feeling of that elevated position (I
+allude, of course, to the top of the eight-day clock), which
+circumstances led you somewhat<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[282]</a></span> hastily to decline. It would
+undoubtedly have become you, and less cannot be said for such a
+situation as the summit of an easel, overlooking the black-board, in
+an establishment for the education of youth. Meanwhile it may interest
+you to hear of a bird (not of your wisdom, but with parts, and a
+respectable appearance) who secured a somewhat similar seat in
+adopting that kind of home which you would not. It was in driving
+through a wood at some little distance from the above address that we
+found a wounded crow, and brought him home to our hut. He became a
+member of the family, and received the name of Slyboots, for reasons
+with which it is unnecessary to trouble you. He was made very welcome
+in the drawing-room, but he preferred the kitchen. The kitchen is a
+brick room detached from the wooden hut. It was once, in fact, an
+armorer's shop, and has since been converted to a kitchen. The floor
+is rudely laid, and the bricks gape here and there. A barrack fender
+guards the fire-place, and a barrack poker reposes in the fender. It
+is a very ponderous poker of unusual size and the commonest
+appearance, but with a massive knob at the upper end which was wont to
+project far and high above the hearth. It was to this seat that
+Slyboots elevated himself by his own choice, and became the Kitchen
+Crow. Here he spent hours watching the cook, and taking tit-bits
+behind her back. He ate what he could (more, I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[283]</a></span> fear, than he ought),
+and hid the rest in holes and corners. The genial neighborhood of the
+oven caused him no inconvenience. His glossy coat, being already as
+black as a coal, was not damaged by a certain grimeyness which is
+undoubtedly characteristic of the (late) armorer's shop, of which the
+chimney is an inveterate smoker. Companies of his relatives constantly
+enter the camp by ways over which the sentries have no control (the
+Balloon Brigade being not yet even in the clouds); but Slyboots showed
+no disposition to join them. They flaunt and forage in the Lines, they
+inspect the ashpits and cookhouses, they wheel and manoeuvre on the
+parades, but Slyboots sat serene upon his poker. He had a cook-house
+all to himself.... He died. We must all die; but we need not all die
+of repletion, which, I fear, was his case. He buried his last meal
+between two bricks in the kitchen floor, and covered it very tidily
+with a bit of newspaper. The poker is vacant. Sir, I was bred to the
+sword and not to the pen, but I have a foolish desire for literary
+fame. I should be better pleased to be in print than to be
+promoted&mdash;for that matter one seems as near as the other&mdash;and my wife
+agrees with me. She is of a literary turn, and has helped me in the
+composition of this, but we both fear that the story having no moral
+you will not admit it into your Owlhoots. But if your wisdom could
+supply this, or your kindness overlook<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[284]</a></span> the defect, it would afford
+great consolation to a bereaved family to have printed a biography of
+the dear deceased. For we were greatly attached to him, though he
+preferred the cook. I can at any rate give you my word as a man of
+honor that these incidents are true, though, out of soldierly modesty,
+I will not trouble you with my name, but with much respect subscribe
+myself by that of</p>
+
+<p class="f5"><span class="smcap">Slyboots.</span>"</p>
+
+<p>The gallant officer is too modest. This biography is not only true but
+brief, and these are rare merits in a memoir. As to the moral&mdash;it is
+not far to seek. Dear children, for whom I hoot! avoid greediness. If
+Slyboots had eaten tit-bits in moderation, he might be sitting on the
+poker to this day. I have great pleasure in making his brief career
+public to the satisfaction of his gallant friend, and I should be glad
+to hear that the latter had got his step by the same post as his
+Owlhoot.</p>
+
+<p>The second letter is much farther from literary excellence than the
+first. I fear this little boy plays truant from school as well as
+taking apples which do not belong to him. It is high time that he
+learnt to spell, and also to observe the difference between <i>meum</i> and
+<i>tuum</i>. From not being well grounded on these two points, many boys
+have lost good situations in life when they grew up to be men.</p>
+
+<p>"deer mister howl,&mdash;as you say you see behind<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[285]</a></span> your bak i spose its
+you told varmer jones of me for theres a tree with a whole in it just
+behind the orchurd he wolloped I shameful and I'll have no more of his
+apples they be a deal sowerer than yud think though they look so red,
+but do you call yourself a childerns friend and tell tails i dont i
+can tell you.</p>
+
+<p class="f5"><span class="smcap">Tom Turnip.</span>"</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p>[<span class="smcap">Publisher's Note</span>. Mrs. Ewing did not live to complete "The Owl
+in the Ivy Bush." This, and "Tiny's Tricks and Toby's Tricks"
+were first published after her death.]</p></div>
+
+
+<hr style='width: 65%;' />
+
+
+<h3><i>Roberts Brothers Juvenile Books.</i></h3>
+<h2><span class="smcap">Dear Daughter Dorothy.</span></h2>
+<h3><i>BY MISS A. G. PLYMPTON.</i></h3>
+<p class="center">With seven illustrations by the author. Small 4to. Cloth.</p>
+
+<p class="center">PRICE, $1.00.</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 300px;">
+<img src="images/image_07.jpg" width="300" height="233" alt="DEAR DAUGHTER DOROTHY."  />
+<span class="caption">DEAR DAUGHTER DOROTHY.</span>
+</div>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p>"The child is father of the man,"&mdash;so Wordsworth sang; and here
+is a jolly story of a little girl who was her father's mother in
+a very real way. There were hard lines for him; and she was
+fruitful of devices to help him along, even having an auction of
+the pretty things that had been given her from time to time, and
+realizing a neat little sum. Then her father was accused of
+peculation; and she, sweetly ignorant of the ways of justice,
+went to the judge and labored with him, to no effect, though he
+was wondrous kind. Then in court she gave just the wrong
+evidence, because it showed how poor her father was, and so
+established a presumption of his great necessity and desperation.
+But the <i>Deus ex machina</i>&mdash;the wicked partner&mdash;arrived at the
+right moment, and owned up, and the good father was cleared, and
+little Daughter Dorothy was made glad. But this meagre summary
+gives but a poor idea of the ins and outs of this charming story,
+and no idea of the happy way in which it is told.&mdash;<i>Christian
+Register.</i></p></div>
+
+<h3>ROBERTS BROTHERS, Boston.</h3>
+<hr style='width: 45%;' />
+
+<h2>LOUISA M. ALCOTT'S WRITINGS.</h2>
+<p class="blockquot"><i>Miss Alcott is really a benefactor of households</i><b>&mdash;H H</b></p>
+
+<p class="blockquot"><i>Miss Alcott has a faculty of entering into the lives and
+feelings of children that is conspicuously wanting in most
+writers who address them, and to this cause, to the consciousness
+among her readers that they are hearing about people like
+themselves, instead of abstract qualities labelled with names,
+the popularity of her books is due</i>&mdash;<span class="smcap"><b>Mrs Sarah J Hale</b></span></p>
+
+<p class="blockquot"><i>Dear Aunt Jo! You are embalmed in the thoughts and loves of
+thousands of little men and women</i>&mdash;<span class="smcap"><b>Exchange</b></span></p>
+
+
+<table summary="List of books">
+<tr><td><b>Little Women</b>, or <b>Meg, Jo, Beth, and Amy</b> With
+illustrations 16mo</td><td class="tocpg">$1.50</td></tr>
+<tr><td><b>Hospital Sketches, and Camp and Fireside Stories</b> With
+illustrations 16mo</td><td class="tocpg">1.50</td></tr>
+<tr><td><b>An Old-Fashioned Girl</b> With illustrations 16mo</td><td class="tocpg">1.50</td></tr>
+<tr><td><b>Little Men</b> Life at Plumfield with Jo's Boys With
+illustrations 16mo</td><td class="tocpg">1.50</td></tr>
+<tr><td><b>Jo's Boys and How they Turned Out</b> A sequel to Little Men
+With portrait of Aunt Jo 16mo</td><td class="tocpg">1.50</td></tr>
+<tr><td><b>Eight Cousins</b>, or The Aunt Hill With illustrations 16mo</td><td class="tocpg">1.50</td></tr>
+<tr><td><b>Rose in Bloom</b> A sequel to Eight Cousins 16mo</td><td class="tocpg">1.50</td></tr>
+<tr><td><b>Under the Lilacs</b> With illustrations 16mo</td><td class="tocpg">1.50</td></tr>
+<tr><td><b>Jack and Jill</b> A Village Story With illustrations 16mo</td><td class="tocpg">1.50</td></tr>
+<tr><td><b>Work A Story of Experience</b> With character illustrations by
+Sol Eytinge 16mo</td><td class="tocpg">1.50</td></tr>
+<tr><td><b>Moods</b> A Novel New edition revised and enlarged 16mo</td><td class="tocpg">1.50</td></tr>
+<tr><td><b>A Modern Mephistopheles, and A Whisper in the Dark</b> 16mo</td><td class="tocpg">1.50</td></tr>
+<tr><td><b>Silver Pitchers, and Independence</b> A Centennial Love Story
+16mo</td><td class="tocpg">1.25</td></tr>
+<tr><td><b>Proverb Stories</b> New edition, revised and enlarged 16mo</td><td class="tocpg">1.25</td></tr>
+<tr><td><b>Spinning Wheel Stories</b> With illustrations 16mo</td><td class="tocpg">1.25</td></tr>
+<tr><td><b>A Garland for Girls and Other Stories</b> With illustrations
+16mo</td><td class="tocpg">1.25</td></tr>
+<tr><td><b>My Boys &amp;c</b> First volume of Aunt Jo's Scrap Bag 16mo</td><td class="tocpg">$1.00</td></tr>
+<tr><td><b>Shawl-Straps</b> Second volume of Aunt Jo's Scrap Bag 16mo</td><td class="tocpg">1.00</td></tr>
+<tr><td><b>Cupid and Chow-Chow</b>, &amp;c. Third volume of Aunt Jo's Scrap Bag
+16mo</td><td class="tocpg">1.00</td></tr>
+<tr><td><b>My Girls, &amp;c</b> Fourth volume of Aunt Jo's Scrap Bag 16mo</td><td class="tocpg">1.00</td></tr>
+<tr><td><b>Jimmy's Cruise in the Pinafore, &amp;c</b> Fifth volume of Aunt Jo's
+Scrap Bag 16mo</td><td class="tocpg">1.00</td></tr>
+<tr><td><b>An Old-Fashioned Thanksgiving, &amp;c</b> Sixth volume of Aunt Jo's
+Scrap Bag 16mo</td><td class="tocpg">1.00</td></tr>
+<tr><td><b>Little Women</b> Illustrated Embellished with nearly 200
+characteristic illustrations from original designs drawn
+expressly for this edition of this noted American Classic
+One small quarto bound in cloth with emblematic designs</td><td class="tocpg">2.50</td></tr>
+<tr><td><b>Little Women Series</b> Comprising Little Women, Little Men, Eight
+Cousins, Under the Lilacs, An Old Fashioned Girl, Jo's Boys, Rose in
+Bloom, Jack and Jill, 8 large 16mo volumes in a handsome box</td><td class="tocpg">12.00</td></tr>
+<tr><td><b>Miss Alcott's novels</b> in uniform binding in sets Moods Work,
+Hospital Sketches, A Modern Mephistopheles, and A Whisper in
+the Dark 4 volumes 16mo</td><td class="tocpg">6.00</td></tr>
+<tr><td><b>Lulu's Library</b> Vols I II III A collection of New Stories
+16mo</td><td class="tocpg">1.00</td></tr>
+</table>
+
+<h4><i>These books are for sale at all bookstores, or will be mailed, post
+paid, on receipt of price, to any address</i></h4>
+<h4>ROBERTS BROTHERS, <span class="smcap">Publishers</span>,</h4>
+<h3><i>Boston, Mass.</i></h3>
+<hr style='width: 65%;' />
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+<pre>
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Last Words, by Juliana Horatia Ewing
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+</body>
+</html>
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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Last Words, by Juliana Horatia Ewing
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Last Words
+       A Final Collection of Stories
+
+Author: Juliana Horatia Ewing
+
+Illustrator: H. D. Murphy
+
+Release Date: June 6, 2008 [EBook #25710]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LAST WORDS ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Sankar Viswanathan, Juliet Sutherland, and the
+Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+           [Illustration: (signed) Juliana Horatia Ewing.]
+
+
+                             LAST WORDS.
+
+                    A Final Collection of Stories.
+
+
+
+
+                                  BY
+
+                        JULIANA HORATIA EWING,
+
+    AUTHOR OF "JAN OF THE WINDMILL," "SIX TO SIXTEEN," "A GREAT
+    EMERGENCY," "WE AND THE WORLD," "JACKANAPES, AND OTHER TALES,"
+    "MELCHIOR'S DREAM, BROTHERS OF PITY, AND OTHER TALES," "LOB
+    LIE-BY-THE-FIRE, THE BROWNIES, AND OTHER TALES," "MRS.
+    OVERTHEWAY's REMEMBRANCES," "A FLAT IRON FOR A FARTHING."
+
+
+                _WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY H. D. MURPHY._
+
+
+
+
+
+                               BOSTON:
+
+                          ROBERTS BROTHERS.
+
+                                1891.
+
+
+
+
+                          _Copyright, 1891_,
+
+                         BY ROBERTS BROTHERS.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+PREFACE.
+
+
+"Mary's Meadow" first appeared in the numbers of _Aunt Judy's
+Magazine_ from November 1883, to March 1884. It was the last serial
+story which Mrs. EWING wrote, and I believe the subject of it arose
+from the fact that in 1883, after having spent several years in moving
+from place to place, she went to live at Villa Ponente, Taunton, where
+she had a settled home with a garden, and was able to revert to the
+practical cultivation of flowers, which had been one of the favorite
+pursuits of her girlhood.
+
+The Game of the Earthly Paradise was received with great delight by
+the readers of the story; one family of children adopted the word
+"Mary-meadowing" to describe the work which they did towards
+beautifying hedges and bare places; and my sister received many
+letters of enquiry about the various plants mentioned in her tale.
+These she answered in the _Correspondence_ columns of the Magazine,
+and in July 1884, it was suggested that a "Parkinson Society" should
+be formed, whose objects were "to search out and cultivate old garden
+flowers which have become scarce; to exchange seeds and plants; to
+plant waste places with hardy flowers; to circulate books on gardening
+amongst the Members;" and further, "to try to prevent the
+extermination of rare wild flowers, as well as of garden treasures."
+
+Reports of the Society, with correspondence on the exchanges of plants
+and books, and quaint local names of flowers, were given in the
+Magazine until it was brought to a close after Mrs. EWING'S death: but
+I am glad to say that the Society itself is still in existence, and
+any one who wishes to procure a copy of its Rules can do so by sending
+a stamped envelope to the Secretary, _Miss Alice Sargant, 7 Belsize
+Grove, N. W._ Miss SARGANT was the originator of the scheme, so its
+management remains in the best possible hands, and Professor OLIVER,
+of Kew Gardens, has consented to become President in Mrs. EWING'S
+place. She owed to him her first introduction to _Paradisi in sole
+Paradisus terrestris_, as well as many other kind acts of help on
+flower subjects.
+
+HORATIA K. F. GATTY.
+
+_May, 1886._
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+
+MARY'S MEADOW,
+
+LETTERS FROM A LITTLE GARDEN,
+
+SNAP-DRAGONS,
+
+DANDELION CLOCKS,
+
+THE BLIND MAN AND THE TALKING DOG,
+
+SO-SO,
+
+THE TRINITY FLOWER,
+
+THE KYRKEGRIM TURNED PREACHER,
+
+LADDERS TO HEAVEN,
+
+SUNFLOWERS AND A RUSHLIGHT,
+
+TINY'S TRICKS AND TOBY'S TRICKS,
+
+THE OWL IN THE IVY BUSH,
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+      How fresh, O Lord, how sweet and clean
+    Are Thy returns! ev'n as the flowers in spring;
+      To which, besides their own demean,
+    The late-past frosts tributes of pleasure bring.
+            Grief melts away
+            Like snow in May,
+      As if there were no such cold thing.
+
+      Who would have thought my shrivel'd heart
+    Could have recover'd greenness? It was gone
+      Quite under ground; as flowers depart
+    To see their mother-root, when they have blown;
+            Where they together
+            All the hard weather,
+      Dead to the world, keep house unknown.
+
+           *       *       *       *       *
+
+      O that I once past changing were,
+    Fast in Thy Paradise, where no flower can wither!
+      Many a spring I shoot up fair,
+    Offering at Heaven, growing and groaning thither;
+            Nor doth my flower
+            Want a spring shower,
+      My sins and I joining together.
+
+           *       *       *       *       *
+
+      These are Thy wonders, Lord of love,
+    To make us see we are but flowers that glide:
+      Which when we once can find and prove,
+    Thou hast a garden for us, where to bide.
+            Who would be more,
+            Swelling through store,
+      Forfeit their Paradise by their pride.
+
+--GEORGE HERBERT
+
+
+
+
+MARY'S MEADOW.
+
+CHAPTER I.
+
+
+Mother is always trying to make us love our neighbors as ourselves.
+
+She does so despise us for greediness, or grudging, or snatching, or
+not sharing what we have got, or taking the best and leaving the rest,
+or helping ourselves first, or pushing forward, or praising Number
+One, or being Dogs in the Manger, or anything selfish. And we cannot
+bear her to despise us!
+
+We despise being selfish, too; but very often we forget. Besides, it
+is sometimes rather difficult to love your neighbor as yourself when
+you want a thing very much; and Arthur says he believes it is
+particularly difficult if it is your next-door-neighbor, and that that
+is why Father and the Old Squire quarrelled about the footpath through
+Mary's Meadow.
+
+The Old Squire is not really his name, but that is what people call
+him. He is very rich. His place comes next to ours, and it is much
+bigger, and he has quantities of fields, and Father has only got a
+few; but there are two fields beyond Mary's Meadow which belong to
+Father, though the Old Squire wanted to buy them. Father would not
+sell them, and he says he has a right of way through Mary's Meadow to
+go to his fields, but the Old Squire says he has nothing of the kind,
+and that is what they quarrelled about.
+
+Arthur says if you quarrel, and are too grown-up to punch each other's
+heads, you go to law; and if going to law doesn't make it up, you
+appeal. They went to law, I know, for Mother cried about it; and I
+suppose it did not make it up, for the Old Squire appealed.
+
+After that he used to ride about all day on his grey horse, with
+Saxon, his yellow bull-dog, following him, to see that we did not
+trespass on Mary's Meadow. I think he thought that if we children were
+there, Saxon would frighten us, for I do not suppose he knew that we
+knew him. But Saxon used often to come with the Old Squire's Scotch
+Gardener to see our gardener, and when they were looking at the wall
+fruit, Saxon used to come snuffing after us.
+
+He is the nicest dog I know. He looks very savage, but he is only very
+funny. His lower jaw sticks out, which makes him grin, and some people
+think he is gnashing his teeth with rage. We think it looks as if he
+were laughing--like Mother Hubbard's dog, when she brought home his
+coffin, and he wasn't dead--but it really is only the shape of his
+jaw. I loved Saxon the first day I saw him, and he likes me, and
+licks my face. But what he likes best of all are Bath Oliver Biscuits.
+
+One day the Scotch Gardener saw me feeding him, and he pulled his red
+beard, and said "Ye do weel to mak hay while the sun shines, Saxon, my
+man. There's sma' sight o' young leddies and sweet cakes at hame for
+ye!" And Saxon grinned, and wagged his tail, and the Scotch Gardener
+touched his hat to me, and took him away.
+
+The Old Squire's Weeding Woman is our nursery-maid's aunt. She is not
+very old, but she looks so, because she has lost her teeth, and is
+bent nearly double. She wears a large hood, and carries a big basket,
+which she puts down outside the nursery door when she comes to tea
+with Bessy. If it is a fine afternoon, and we are gardening, she lets
+us borrow the basket, and then we play at being weeding women in each
+other's gardens.
+
+She tells Bessy about the Old Squire. She says--"He do be a real old
+skinflint, the Old Zquire a be!" But she thinks it--"zim as if 'twas
+having ne'er a wife nor child for to keep the natur in 'un, so his
+heart do zim to shrivel, like they walnuts Butler tells us of as a
+zets down for desart. The Old Zquire he mostly eats ne'er a one now's
+teeth be so bad. But a counts them every night when's desart's done.
+And a keeps 'em till the karnels be mowldy, and a keeps 'em till they
+be dry, and a keeps 'em till they be dust; and when the karnels is
+dust, a cracks aal the lot of 'em when desart's done, zo's no one
+mayn't have no good of they walnuts, since they be no good to he."
+
+Arthur can imitate the Weeding Woman exactly, and he can imitate the
+Scotch Gardener, too. Chris (that is Christopher, our youngest
+brother), is very fond of "The Zquire and the Walnuts." He gets nuts,
+or anything, like shells or bits of flower-pots, that will break, and
+something to hit with, and when Arthur comes to "_The karnels is
+dust_," Chris smashes everything before him, shouting, "_A cracks aal
+the lot of 'em_" and then he throws the bits all over the place, with
+"_They be no good to he_."
+
+Father laughed very much when he heard Arthur do the Weeding Woman,
+and Mother could not help laughing, too; but she did not like it,
+because she does not like us to repeat servants' gossip.
+
+The Weeding Woman is a great gossip. She gossips all the time she is
+having her tea, and it is generally about the Old Squire. She used to
+tell Bessy that his flowers bloomed themselves to death, and the fruit
+rotted on the walls, because he would let nothing be picked, and gave
+nothing away, except now and then a grand present of fruit to Lady
+Catherine, for which the old lady returned no thanks, but only a rude
+message to say that his peaches were over-ripe, and he had better have
+sent the grapes to the Infirmary. Adela asked--"Why is the Old Squire
+so kind to Lady Catherine?" and Father said--"Because we are so fond
+of Lords and Ladies in this part of the country." I thought he meant
+the lords and ladies in the hedges, for we are very fond of them. But
+he didn't. He meant real lords and ladies.
+
+There are splendid lords and ladies in the hedges of Mary's Meadow. I
+never can make up my mind when I like them best. In April and May,
+when they have smooth plum-colored coats and pale green cowls, and
+push up out of last year's dry leaves, or in August and September,
+when their hoods have fallen away, and their red berries shine through
+the dusty grass and nettles that have been growing up round them all
+the summer out of the ditch.
+
+Flowers were one reason for our wanting to go to Mary's Meadow.
+Another reason was the nightingale. There was one that used always to
+sing there, and Mother had made us a story about it.
+
+We are very fond of fairy books, and one of our greatest favorites is
+Bechstein's "As Pretty as Seven." It has very nice pictures, and we
+particularly like "The Man in the Moon, and How He Came There;" but
+the story doesn't end well, for he came there by gathering sticks on
+Sunday, and then scoffing about it, and he has been there ever since.
+But Mother made us a new fairy tale about the nightingale in Mary's
+Meadow being the naughty woodcutter's only child, who was turned into
+a little brown bird that lives on in the woods, and sits on a tree on
+summer nights, and sings to its father up in the moon.
+
+But after our Father and the Old Squire went to law, Mother told us we
+must be content with hearing the nightingale from a distance. We did
+not really know about the lawsuit then, we only understood that the
+Old Squire was rather crosser than usual; and we rather resented being
+warned not to go into Mary's Meadow, especially as Father kept saying
+we had a perfect right so to do. I thought that Mother was probably
+afraid of Saxon being set at us, and of course I had no fears about
+him. Indeed, I used to wish that it could happen that the Old Squire,
+riding after me as full of fury as King Padella in the "Rose and the
+Ring," might set Saxon on me, as the lions were let loose to eat the
+Princess Rosalba. "Instead of devouring her with their great teeth, it
+was with kisses they gobbled her up. They licked her pretty feet, they
+nuzzled their noses in her lap," and she put her arms "round their
+tawny necks and kissed them." Saxon gobbles us with kisses, and
+nuzzles his nose, and we put our arms round his tawny neck. What a
+surprise it would be to the Old Squire to see him! And then I wondered
+if my feet were as pretty as Rosalba's, and I thought they were, and I
+wondered if Saxon would lick them, supposing that by any possibility
+it could ever happen that I should be barefoot in Mary's Meadow at
+the mercy of the Old Squire and his bull-dog.
+
+One does not, as a rule, begin to go to bed by letting down one's
+hair, and taking off one's shoes and stockings. But one night I was
+silly enough to do this, just to see if I looked (in the mirror) at
+all like the picture of Rosalba in the "Rose and the Ring." I was
+trying to see my feet as well as my hair, when I heard Arthur jumping
+the three steps in the middle of the passage between his room and
+mine. I had only just time to spring into the window seat, and tuck my
+feet under me, when he gave a hasty knock, and bounced in with his
+telescope in his hand.
+
+"Oh, Mary," he cried, "I want you to see the Old Squire, with a
+great-coat over his evening clothes, and a squosh hat, marching up and
+down Mary's Meadow."
+
+And he pulled up my blind, and threw open the window, and arranged the
+telescope for me.
+
+It was a glorious night. The moon was rising round and large out of
+the mist, and dark against its brightness I could see the figure of
+the Old Squire pacing the pathway over Mary's Meadow.
+
+Saxon was not there; but on a slender branch of a tree in the hedgerow
+sat the nightingale, singing to comfort the poor, lonely old Man in
+the Moon.
+
+
+CHAPTER II.
+
+
+Lady Catherine is Mother's aunt by marriage, and Mother is one of the
+few people she is not rude to.
+
+She is very rude, and yet she is very kind, especially to the poor.
+But she does kind things so rudely, that people now and then wish that
+she would mind her own business instead. Father says so, though Mother
+would say that that is gossip. But I think sometimes that Mother is
+thinking of Aunt Catherine when she tells us that in kindness it is
+not enough to be good to others, one should also learn to be gracious.
+
+Mother thought she was very rude to _her_ once, when she said, quite
+out loud, that Father is very ill-tempered, and that, if Mother had
+not the temper of an angel, the house could never hold together.
+Mother was very angry, but Father did not mind. He says our house will
+hold together much longer than most houses, because he swore at the
+workmen, and went to law with the builder for using dirt instead of
+mortar, so the builder had to pull down what was done wrong, and do it
+right; and Father says he knows he has a bad temper, but he does not
+mean to pull the house over our heads at present, unless he has to get
+bricks out to heave at Lady Catherine if she becomes quite unbearable.
+
+We do not like dear Father to be called bad-tempered. He comes home
+cross sometimes, and then we have to be very quiet, and keep out of
+the way; and sometimes he goes out rather cross, but not always. It
+was what Chris said about that that pleased Lady Catherine so much.
+
+It was one day when Father came home cross, and was very much vexed to
+find us playing about the house. Arthur had got a new adventure book,
+and he had been reading to us about the West Coast of Africa, and
+niggers, and tom-toms, and "going Fantee;" and James gave him a lot of
+old corks out of the pantry, and let him burn them in a candle. It
+rained, and we could not go out; so we all blacked our faces with
+burnt cork, and played at the West Coast in one of the back passages,
+and at James being the captain of a slave ship; because he tried to
+catch us when we beat the tom-toms too near him when he was cleaning
+the plate, to make him give us rouge and whitening to tattoo with.
+
+Dear Father came home rather earlier than we expected, and rather
+cross. Chris did not hear the front door, because his ears were
+pinched up with tying curtain rings on to them, and just at that
+minute he shouted, "I go Fantee!" and tore his pinafore right up the
+middle, and burst into the front hall with it hanging in two pieces by
+the armholes, his eyes shut, and a good grab of James's rouge powder
+smudged on his nose, yelling and playing the tom-tom on what is left
+of Arthur's drum.
+
+Father was very angry indeed, and Chris was sent to bed, and not
+allowed to go down to dessert; and Lady Catherine was dining at our
+house, so he missed her.
+
+Next time she called, and saw Chris, she asked him why he had not been
+at dessert that night. Mother looked at Chris, and said "Why was it
+Chris? Tell Aunt Catherine." Mother thought he would say "Because I
+tore my pinafore, and made a noise in the front hall." But he smiled,
+the grave way Chris does, and said, "Because Father came home cross."
+And Lady Catherine was pleased, but Mother was vexed.
+
+I am quite sure Chris meant no harm, but he does say very funny
+things. Perhaps it is because his head is rather large for his body,
+with some water having got into his brain when he was very little, so
+that we have to take great care of him. And though he does say very
+odd things, very slowly, I do not think any one of us tries harder to
+be good.
+
+I remember once Mother had been trying to make us forgive each other's
+trespasses, and Arthur would say that you cannot _make_ yourself feel
+kindly to them that trespass against you; and Mother said if you make
+yourself do right, then at last you get to feel right; and it was very
+soon after this that Harry and Christopher quarrelled, and would not
+forgive each other's trespasses in the least, in spite of all that I
+could do to try and make peace between them.
+
+Chris went off in the sulks, but after a long time I came upon him in
+the toy-cupboard, looking rather pale and very large-headed, and
+winding up his new American top, and talking to himself.
+
+When he talks to himself he mutters, so I could only just hear what he
+was saying, and he said it over and over again:
+
+"_Dos first and feels afterwards._"
+
+"What are you doing, Chris?" I asked.
+
+"I'm getting ready my new top to give to Harry. _Dos first and feels
+afterwards._"
+
+"Well," I said, "Christopher, you _are_ a good boy."
+
+"I should like to punch his head," said Chris--and he said it in just
+the same sing-song tone--"but I'm getting the top ready. _Dos first
+and feels afterwards._"
+
+And he went on winding and muttering.
+
+Afterwards he told me that the "feels" came sooner than he expected.
+Harry wouldn't take his top, and they made up their quarrel.
+
+Christopher is very simple, but sometimes we think he is also a
+little sly. He can make very wily excuses about things he does not
+like.
+
+He does not like Nurse to hold back his head and wash his face; and at
+last one day she let him go downstairs with a dirty face, and then
+complained to Mother. So Mother asked Chris why he was so naughty
+about having his face washed, and he said, quite gravely, "I do think
+it would be _such pity_ if the water got into my head again by
+accident." Mother did not know he had ever heard about it, but she
+said, "Oh, Chris! Chris! that's one of your excuses." And he said,
+"It's not my _'scusis_. She lets a good deal get in--at my ears--and
+lather too."
+
+But, with all his whimsical ways, Lady Catherine is devoted to
+Christopher. She likes him far better than any one of us, and he is
+very fond of her; and they say quite rude things to each other all
+along. And Father says it is very lucky, for if she had not been so
+fond of Chris, and so ready to take him too, Mother would never have
+been persuaded to leave us when Aunt Catherine took them to the South
+of France.
+
+Mother had been very unwell for a long time. She has so many worries,
+and Dr. Solomon said she ought to avoid worry, and Aunt Catherine said
+worries were killing her, and Father said "Pshaw!" and Aunt Catherine
+said "Care killed the cat," and that a cat has nine lives, and a woman
+has only one; and then Mother got worse, and Aunt Catherine wanted to
+take her abroad, and she wouldn't go; and then Christopher was ill,
+and Aunt Catherine said she would take him too, if only Mother would
+go with her; and Dr. Solomon said it might be the turning-point of his
+health, and Father said, "the turning-point which way?" but he thanked
+Lady Catherine, and they didn't quarrel; and so Mother yielded, and it
+was settled that they should go.
+
+Before they went, Mother spoke to me, and told me I must be a Little
+Mother to the others whilst she was away. She hoped we should all try
+to please Father, and to be unselfish with each other; but she
+expected me to try far harder than the others, and never to think of
+myself at all, so that I might fill her place whilst she was away. So
+I promised to try, and I did.
+
+We missed Christopher sadly. And Saxon missed him. The first time
+Saxon came to see us after Mother and Chris went away, we told him all
+about it, and he looked very sorry. Then we said that he should be our
+brother in Christopher's stead, whilst Chris was away; and he looked
+very much pleased, and wagged his tail, and licked our faces all
+round. So we told him to come and see us very often.
+
+He did not, but we do not think it was his fault. He is chained up so
+much.
+
+One day Arthur and I were walking down the road outside the Old
+Squire's stables, and Saxon smelt us, and we could hear him run and
+rattle his chain, and he gave deep, soft barks.
+
+Arthur laughed. He said, "Do you hear Saxon, Mary? Now I dare say the
+Old Squire thinks he smells tramps and wants to bite them. He doesn't
+know that Saxon smells his new sister and brother, and wishes he could
+go out walking with them in Mary's Meadow."
+
+
+CHAPTER III.
+
+
+Nothing comforted us so much whilst Mother and Chris were away as
+being allowed to play in the library.
+
+We were not usually allowed to be there so often, but when we asked
+Father he gave us leave to amuse ourselves there at the time when
+Mother would have had us with her, provided that we did not bother him
+or hurt the books. We did not hurt the books, and in the end we were
+allowed to go there as much as we liked.
+
+We have plenty of books of our own, and we have new ones very often:
+on birthdays and at Christmas. Sometimes they are interesting, and
+sometimes they are disappointing. Most of them have pretty pictures.
+It was because we had been rather unlucky for some time, and had had
+disappointing ones on our birthdays, that Arthur said to me, "Look
+here, Mary, I'm not going to read any books now but grown-up ones,
+unless it is an Adventure Book. I'm sick of books for young people,
+there's so much _stuff_ in them."
+
+We call it _stuff_ when there seems to be going to be a story and it
+comes to nothing but talk; and we call it _stuff_ when there is a very
+interesting picture, and you read to see what it is about, and the
+reading does not tell you, or tells you wrong.
+
+Both Arthur and Christopher had had disappointments in their books on
+their birthdays.
+
+Arthur jumped at his book at first, because there were Japanese
+pictures in it, and Uncle Charley had just been staying with us, and
+had brought beautiful Japanese pictures with him, and had told us
+Japanese fairy tales, and they were as good as Bechstein. So Arthur
+was full of Japan.
+
+The most beautiful picture of all was of a stork, high up in a tall,
+tall pine tree, and the branches of the pine tree, and the cones, and
+the pine needles were most beautifully drawn; and there was a nest
+with young storks in it, and behind the stork and the nest and the
+tall pine the sun was blazing with all his rays. And Uncle Charley
+told us the story to it, and it was called "the Nest of the Stork."
+
+So when Arthur saw a stork standing among pine needles in his new
+book he shouted with delight, though the pine needles were rather
+badly done, with thick strokes. But presently he said, "It's not
+nearly so good a stork as Uncle Charley's. And where's the stem of the
+pine? It looks as if the stork were on the ground and on the top of
+the pine tree, too, and there's no nest. And there's no sun. And, oh!
+Mary, what do you think is written under it? '_Crane and
+Water-reeds_.' Well, I do call that a sell!"
+
+Christopher's disappointment was quite as bad. Mother gave him a book
+with very nice pictures, particularly of beasts. The chief reason she
+got it for him was that there was such a very good picture of a toad,
+and Chris is so fond of toads. For months he made friends with one in
+the garden. It used to crawl away from him, and he used to creep after
+it, talking to it, and then it used to half begin to crawl up the
+garden wall, and stand so, on its hind legs, and let Chris rub its
+wrinkled back. The toad in the picture was exactly like Christopher's
+toad, and he ran about the house with the book in his arms begging us
+to read him the story about Dear Toady.
+
+We were all busy but Arthur, and he said, "I want to go on with my
+water-wheel." But Mother said, "Don't be selfish, Arthur." And he
+said, "I forgot. All right, Chris; bring me the book." So they went
+and sat in the conservatory, not to disturb anyone. But very soon they
+came back, Chris crying, and saying, "It couldn't be the right one,
+Arthur;" and Arthur frowning, and saying, "It _is_ the right story;
+but it's _stuff_. I'll tell you what that book's good for, Chris. To
+paint the pictures. And you've got a new paint-box." So Mother said,
+"What's the matter?" And Arthur said, "Chris thinks I haven't read him
+the right story to his Toad Picture. But I have, and what do you think
+it's about? It's about the silliest little girl you can imagine--a
+regular mawk of a girl--_and a frog_. Not a toad, but a F. R. O. G.
+frog! A regular hop, skip, jumping frog!"
+
+Arthur hopped round the room, but Chris cried bitterly. So Arthur ran
+up to him, and kissed him, and said, "Don't cry, old chap. I'll tell
+you what I'll do. You get Mary to cut out a lot of the leaves of your
+book that have no pictures, and that will make it like a real
+scrap-book; and then I'll give you a lot of my scraps and pictures to
+paste over what's left of the stories, and you'll have such a
+painting-book as you never had in all your life before."
+
+So we did. And Arthur was very good, for he gave Chris pictures that I
+know he prized, because Chris liked them. But the very first picture
+he gave him was the "Crane and Water-reeds."
+
+I thought it so good of Arthur to be so nice with Chris that I wished
+I could have helped him over his water-wheel. He had put Japan out of
+his head since the disappointment, and spent all his play-time in
+making mills and machinery. He did grind some corn into flour once,
+but it was not at all white. He said that was because the bran was
+left in. But it was not only bran in Arthur's flour. There was a good
+deal of sand too, from his millstones being made of sandstone, which
+he thought would not matter. But it grinds off.
+
+Down in the valley, below Mary's Meadow, runs the Ladybrook, which
+turns the old water-wheel of Mary's Mill. It is a very picturesque old
+mill, and Mother has made beautiful sketches of it. She caught the
+last cold she got before going abroad with sketching it--the day we
+had a most delightful picnic there, and went about in the punt. And
+from that afternoon Arthur made up his mind that his next mill should
+be a water mill.
+
+The reason I am no good at helping Arthur about his mills is that I am
+stupid about machinery; and I was so vexed not to help him, that when
+I saw a book in the library which I thought would do so, I did not
+stop to take it out, for it was in four very large volumes, but ran
+off at once to tell Arthur.
+
+He said, "What is the matter, Mary?"
+
+I said, "Oh, Arthur! I've found a book that will tell you all about
+mills; and it is the nicest smelling book in the Library."
+
+"The nicest _smelling_? What's that got to do with mills?"
+
+"Nothing, of course. But it's bound in russia, and I am so fond of the
+smell of russia. But that's nothing. It's a Miller's Dictionary, and
+it is in four huge volumes, 'with plates.' I should think you could
+look out all about every kind of mill there ever was a miller to."
+
+"If the plates give sections and diagrams"--Arthur began, but I did
+not hear the rest, for he started off for the library at once, and I
+ran after him.
+
+But when we got Miller's Dictionary on the floor, how he did tease me!
+For there was nothing about mills or millers in it. It was a
+Gardener's and Botanist's Dictionary, by Philip Miller; and the plates
+were plates of flowers, very truly drawn, like the pine tree in Uncle
+Charley's Jap. picture. There were some sections too, but they were
+sections of greenhouses, not of any kinds of mills or machinery.
+
+The odd thing was that it turned out a kind of help to Arthur after
+all. For we got so much interested in it that it roused us up about
+our gardens. We are all very fond of flowers, I most of all. And at
+last Arthur said he thought that miniature mills were really rather
+humbugging things, and it would be much easier and more useful to
+build a cold frame to keep choice auriculas and _half-hardies_ in.
+
+When we took up our gardens so hotly, Harry and Adela took up theirs,
+and we did a great deal, for the weather was fine.
+
+We were surprised to find that the Old Squire's Scotch Gardener knew
+Miller's Gardener's Dictionary quite well. He said, "It's a gran'
+wurrk!" (Arthur can say it just like him.)
+
+One day he wished he could see it, and smell the russia binding; he
+said he liked to feel a nice smell. Father was away, and we were by
+ourselves, so we invited him into the library. Saxon wanted to come in
+too, but the gardener was very cross with him, and sent him out; and
+he sat on the mat outside and dribbled with longing to get in, and
+thudded his stiff tail whenever he saw anyone through the doorway.
+
+The Scotch Gardener enjoyed himself very much, and he explained a lot
+of things to Arthur, and helped us to put away the Dictionary when we
+had done with it.
+
+When he took up his hat to go, he gave one long look all round the
+library. Then he turned to Arthur (and Saxon took advantage of this to
+wag his way in and join the party), and said, "It's a rare privilege,
+the free entry of a book chamber like this. I'm hoping, young
+gentleman, that you're not insensible of it?"
+
+Then he caught sight of Saxon, and beat him out of the room with his
+hat.
+
+But he came back himself to say, that it might just happen that he
+would be glad now and again to hear what was said about this or that
+plant (of which he would write down the botanical name) in these
+noble volumes.
+
+So we told him that if he would bring Saxon to see us pretty often, we
+would look out anything he wanted to know about in Miller's Gardener's
+Dictionary.
+
+
+CHAPTER IV.
+
+
+Looking round the library one day, to see if I could see any more
+books about gardening, I found the Book of Paradise.
+
+It is a very old book, and very queer. It has a brown leather
+back--not russia--and stiff little gold flowers and ornaments all the
+way down, where Miller's Dictionary has gold swans in crowns, and
+ornaments.
+
+There are a good many old books in the library, but they are not
+generally very interesting--at least not to us. So when I found that
+though this one had a Latin name on the title page, it was written in
+English, and that though it seemed to be about Paradise, it was really
+about a garden, and quite common flowers, I was delighted, for I
+always have cared more for gardening and flowers than for any other
+amusement, long before we found Miller's Gardener's Dictionary. And
+the Book of Paradise is much smaller than the dictionary, and easier
+to hold. And I like old, queer things, and it is very old and queer.
+
+The Latin name is, "_Paradisi in sole, Paradisus terrestris_," which
+we do not any of us understand, though we are all learning Latin; so
+we call it the Book of Paradise. But the English name is--"Or a Garden
+of all sorts of pleasant flowers which our English ayre will permitt
+to be noursed up;" and on the top of every page is written "The Garden
+of Pleasant Flowers," and it says--"Collected by John Parkinson,
+Apothecary of London, and the King's Herbarist, 1629."
+
+I had to think a minute to remember who was the king then, and it was
+King Charles I.; so then I knew that it was Queen Henrietta to whom
+the book was dedicated. This was the dedication:--
+
+     "TO THE QUEEN'S MOST EXCELLENT MAJESTY."
+
+     "_Madame_,--Knowing your Majesty so much delighted with all the
+     fair flowers of a Garden, and furnished with them as far beyond
+     others as you are eminent before them; this my Work of a Garden
+     long before this intended to be published, and but now only
+     finished, seemed as it were destined to be first offered into
+     your Highness's hands as of right, challenging the propriety of
+     Patronage from all others. Accept, I beseech your Majesty, this
+     speaking Garden, that may inform you in all the particulars of
+     your store as well as wants, when you cannot see any of them
+     fresh upon the ground: and it shall further encourage him to
+     accomplish the remainder; who in praying that your Highness may
+     enjoy the heavenly Paradise, after many years' fruition of this
+     earthly, submitteth to be your Majesties,"
+
+     "In all humble devotion,"
+
+     "JOHN PARKINSON."
+
+We like queer old things like this, they are so funny! I liked the
+Dedication, and I wondered if the Queen's Garden really was an Earthly
+Paradise, and whether she did enjoy reading John Parkinson's book
+about flowers in the winter time, when her own flowers were no longer
+"fresh upon the ground." And then I wondered what flowers she had, and
+I looked out a great many of our chief favorites, and she had several
+kinds of them.
+
+We are particularly fond of Daffodils, and she had several kinds of
+Daffodils, from the "Primrose Peerlesse,"[1] "of a sweet but stuffing
+scent," to "the least Daffodil of all,"[2] which the book says "was
+brought to us by a Frenchman called Francis le Vean, the honestest
+root-gatherer that ever came over to us."
+
+[Footnote 1: _Narcissus media lutens vulgaris._]
+
+[Footnote 2: _Narcissus minimus_, Parkinson. _N. minor_, Miller.]
+
+The Queen had Cowslips too, though our gardener despised them when he
+saw them in my garden. I dug mine up in Mary's Meadow before Father
+and the Old Squire went to law; but they were only common Cowslips,
+with one Oxlip, by good luck. In the Earthly Paradise there were
+"double Cowslips, one within another." And they were called
+Hose-in-Hose. I wished I had Hose-in-Hose.
+
+Arthur was quite as much delighted with the Book of Paradise as I. He
+said, "Isn't it funny to think of Queen Henrietta Maria gardening. I
+wonder if she went trailing up and down the walks looking like that
+picture of her we saw when you and I were in London with Mother about
+our teeth, and went to see the Loan Collection of Old Masters. I
+wonder if the Dwarf picked the flowers for her. I do wonder what
+Apothecary John Parkinson looked like when he offered his Speaking
+Garden into her Highnesses' hands. And what beautiful hands she had!
+Do you remember the picture, Mary? It was by Vandyke."
+
+I remembered it quite well.
+
+That afternoon the others could not amuse themselves, and wanted me to
+tell them a story. They do not like old stories too often, and it is
+rather difficult to invent new ones. Sometimes we do it by turns. We
+sit in a circle and one of us begins, and the next must add something,
+and so we go on. But that way does not make a good plot. My head was
+so full of the Book of Paradise that afternoon that I could not think
+of a story, but I said I would begin one. So I began:
+
+"Once upon a time there was a Queen--"
+
+"How was she dressed?" asked Adela, who thinks a good deal about
+dress.
+
+"She had a beautiful dark-blue satin robe."
+
+"Princesse shape?" inquired Adela.
+
+"No; Queen's shape," said Arthur. "Drive on, Mary."
+
+"And lace ruffles falling back from her Highness' hands--"
+
+"Sweet!" murmured Adela.
+
+"And a high hat, with plumes, on her head, and--"
+
+"A very low dwarf at her heels," added Arthur.
+
+"Was there really a dwarf, Mary?" asked Harry.
+
+"There was," said I.
+
+"Had he a hump, or was he only a plain dwarf?"
+
+"He was a very plain dwarf," said Arthur.
+
+"Does Arthur know the story, Mary?"
+
+"No, Harry, he doesn't; and he oughtn't to interfere till I come to a
+stop."
+
+"Beg pardon, Mary. Drive on."
+
+"The Queen was very much delighted with all fair flowers, and she had
+a garden so full of them that it was called the Earthly Paradise."
+
+There was a long-drawn and general "Oh!" of admiration.
+
+"But though she was a Queen, she couldn't have flowers in the winter,
+not even in an Earthly Paradise."
+
+"Don't you suppose she had a greenhouse, by-the-bye, Mary?" said
+Arthur.
+
+"Oh, Arthur," cried Harry, "I do wish you'd be quiet: when you know
+it's a fairy story, and that Queens of that sort never had greenhouses
+or anything like we have now."
+
+"And so the King's Apothecary and Herbarist, whose name was John
+Parkinson--"
+
+"I shouldn't have thought he would have had a common name like that,"
+said Harry.
+
+"Bessy's name is Parkinson," said Adela.
+
+"Well, I can't help it; his name _was_ John Parkinson."
+
+"Drive on, Mary!" said Arthur.
+
+"And he made her a book, called the Book of Paradise, in which there
+were pictures and written accounts of her flowers, so that when she
+could not see any of them fresh upon the ground, she could read about
+them, and think about them, and count up how many she had."
+
+"Ah, but she couldn't tell. Some of them might have died in the
+winter," said Adela.
+
+"Ah, but some of the others might have got little ones at their
+roots," said Harry. "So that would make up."
+
+I said nothing. I was glad of the diversion, for I could not think
+how to go on with the story. Before I quite gave in, Harry luckily
+asked, "Was there a Weeding Woman in the Earthly Paradise?"
+
+"There was," said I.
+
+"How was she dressed?" asked Adela.
+
+"She had a dress the color of common earth."
+
+"Princesse shape?" inquired Arthur.
+
+"No; Weeding Woman shape. Arthur, I wish you wouldn't--"
+
+"All right, Mary. Drive on."
+
+"And a little shawl, that had partly the color of grass, and partly
+the color of hay."
+
+"_Hay, dear!_" interpolated Arthur, exactly imitating a well-known
+sigh peculiar to Bessy's aunt.
+
+"Was her bonnet like our weeding woman's bonnet?" asked Adela, in a
+disappointed tone.
+
+"Much larger," said I, "and the color of a Marigold."
+
+Adela looked happier. "Strings the same?" she asked.
+
+"No. One string canary color, and the other white."
+
+"And a basket?" asked Harry.
+
+"Yes, a basket, of course. Well, the Queen had all sorts of flowers in
+her garden. Some of them were natives of the country, and some of them
+were brought to her from countries far away, by men called
+Root-gatherers. There were very beautiful Daffodils in the Earthly
+Paradise, but the smallest of all the Daffodils--"
+
+"A Dwarf, like the Hunchback?" said Harry.
+
+"The Dwarf Daffodil of all was brought to her by a man called Francis
+le Vean."
+
+"That was a _much_ nicer name than John Parkinson," said Harry.
+
+"And he was the honestest Root-gatherer that ever brought foreign
+flowers into the Earthly Paradise."
+
+"Then I love him!" said Harry.
+
+
+CHAPTER V.
+
+
+One sometimes thinks it is very easy to be good, and then there comes
+something which makes it very hard.
+
+I liked being a Little Mother to the others, and almost enjoyed giving
+way to them. "Others first, Little Mothers afterwards," as we used to
+say--till the day I made up that story for them out of the Book of
+Paradise.
+
+The idea of it took our fancy completely, the others as well as mine,
+and though the story was constantly interrupted, and never came to any
+real plot or end, there were no Queens, or dwarfs, or characters of
+any kind in all Bechstein's fairy tales, or even in Grimm, more
+popular than the Queen of the Blue Robe and her Dwarf, and the Honest
+Root-gatherer, and John Parkinson, King's Apothecary and Herbarist,
+and the Weeding Woman of the Earthly Paradise.
+
+When I said, "Wouldn't it be a good new game to have an Earthly
+Paradise in our gardens, and to have a King's Apothecary and Herbarist
+to gather things and make medicine of them, and an honest
+Root-gatherer to divide the polyanthus plants and the bulbs when we
+take them up, and divide them fairly, and a Weeding Woman to work and
+make things tidy, and a Queen in a blue dress, and Saxon for the
+Dwarf"--the others set up such a shout of approbation that Father sent
+James to inquire if we imagined that he was going to allow his house
+to be turned into a bear-garden.
+
+And Arther said, "No. Tell him we're only turning it into a Speaking
+Garden, and we're going to turn our own gardens into an Earthly
+Paradise."
+
+But I said, "Oh, James! please don't say anything of the kind. Say
+we're very sorry, and we will be quite quiet."
+
+And James said, "Trust me, Miss. It would be a deal more than my place
+is worth to carry Master Arthur's messages to his Pa."
+
+"I'll be the honestest Root-gatherer," said Harry. "I'll take up
+Dandelion roots to the very bottom and sell them to the King's
+Apothecary to make Dandelion tea of."
+
+"That's a good idea of yours, Harry," said Arthur, "I shall be John
+Parkinson--"
+
+"_My_ name is Francis le Vean," said Harry.
+
+"King's Apothecary and Herbarist," continued Arthur disdaining the
+interruption. "And I'll bet you my Cloth of Gold Pansy to your Black
+Prince that Bessy's aunt takes three bottles of my dandelion and
+chamomile mixture for 'the swimmings,' bathes her eyes every morning
+with my elder flower lotion to strengthen the sight, and sleeps every
+night on my herb pillow (if Mary'll make me a flannel bag) before the
+week's out."
+
+"I could make you a flannel bag," said Adela, "if Mary will make me a
+bonnet, so that I can be the Weeding Woman. You could make it of
+tissue paper, with stiff paper inside, like all those caps you made
+for us last Christmas, Mary, dear, couldn't you? And there is some
+lovely orange-colored paper, I know, and pale yellow, and white. The
+bonnet was Marygold-color, was it not? And one string canary-colored
+and one white. I couldn't tie them, of course, being paper; but
+Bessy's aunt doesn't tie her bonnet. She wears it like a helmet, to
+shade her eyes. I shall wear mine so, too. It will be all Marygold,
+won't it dear? Front _and_ crown; and the white string going back over
+one shoulder, and the canary string over the other. They might be
+pinned together behind, perhaps, if they were in my way. Don't you
+think so?"
+
+I said "Yes," because if one does not say something, Adela never stops
+saying whatever it is she is saying, even if she has to say it two or
+three times over.
+
+But I felt so cross and so selfish, that if Mother _could_ have known
+she _would_ have despised me!
+
+For the truth was, I had set my heart upon being the Weeding Woman. I
+thought Adela would want to be the Queen, because of the blue dress,
+and the plumed hat, and the lace ruffles. Besides, she likes picking
+flowers, but she never liked grubbing. She would not really like the
+Weeding Woman's work; it was the bonnet that had caught her fancy, and
+I found it hard to smother the vexing thought that if I had gone on
+dressing the Weeding Woman of the Earthly Paradise like Bessy's aunt,
+instead of trying to make the story more interesting by inventing a
+marygold bonnet with yellow and white strings for her, I might have
+had the part I wished to play in our new game (which certainly was of
+my devising), and Adela would have been better pleased to be the Queen
+than to be anything else.
+
+As it was, I knew that if I asked her she would give up the Weeding
+Woman. Adela is very good, and she is very good-natured. And I knew,
+too, that it would not have cost her much. She would have given a
+sigh about the bonnet, and then have turned her whole attention to a
+blue robe, and how to manage the ruffles.
+
+But even whilst I was thinking about it, Arthur said: "Of course, Mary
+must be the Queen, unless we could think of something else--very
+good--for her. If we could have thought of something, Mary, I was
+thinking how jolly it would be, when Mother comes home, to have had
+_her_ for the Queen, with Chris for her Dwarf, and to give her flowers
+out of our Earthly Paradise."
+
+"She would look just like a Queen," said Harry.
+
+"In her navy blue nun's cloth and Russian lace," said Adela.
+
+That settled the question. Nothing could be so nice as to have Mother
+in the game, and the plan provided for Christopher also. I had no wish
+to be Queen, as far as that went. Dressing up, and walking about the
+garden would be no fun for me. I really had looked forward to clearing
+away big baskets full of weeds and rubbish, and keeping our five
+gardens and the paths between them so tidy as they had never been kept
+before. And I knew the weeds would have a fine time of it with Adela,
+as Weeding Woman, in a tissue paper bonnet!
+
+But one thing was more important than tidy gardens--not to be
+selfish.
+
+I had been left as Little Mother to the others, and I had been lucky
+enough to think of a game that pleased them. If I turned selfish now,
+it would spoil everything.
+
+So I said that Arthur's idea was excellent; that I had no wish to be
+Queen, that I thought I might, perhaps, devise another character for
+myself by-and-by; and that if the others would leave me alone, I would
+think about it whilst I was making Adela's bonnet.
+
+The others were quite satisfied. Father says people always are
+satisfied with things in general, when they've got what they want for
+themselves, and I think that is true.
+
+I got the tissue paper and the gum; resisted Adela's extreme desire to
+be with me and talk about the bonnet, and shut myself up in the
+library.
+
+I got out the _Book of Paradise_ too, and propped it up in an
+armchair, and sat on a footstool in front of it, so that I could read
+in between whiles of making the bonnet. There is an index, so that you
+can look out the flowers you want to read about. It was no use our
+looking out flowers, except common ones, such as Harry would be
+allowed to get bits of out of the big garden to plant in our little
+gardens, when he became our Honest Root-gatherer.
+
+I looked at the Cowslips again. I am very fond of them, and so they
+say, are nightingales; which is, perhaps, why that nightingale we
+know lives in Mary's Meadow, for it is full of cowslips.
+
+The Queen had a great many kinds, and there are pictures of most of
+them. She had the Common Field Cowslip, the Primrose Cowslip, the
+Single Green Cowslip, Curled Cowslips, or Galligaskins, Double
+Cowslips, or Hose-in-Hose, and the Franticke or Foolish Cowslip, or
+Jackanapes on Horsebacke.
+
+I did not know any of them except the Common Cowslip, but I remembered
+that Bessy's aunt once told me that she had a double cowslip. It was
+the day I was planting common ones in my garden, when our gardener
+despised them. Bessy's aunt despised them too, and she said the double
+ones were only fit for a cottage garden. I laughed so much that I tore
+the canary-colored string as I was gumming it on to the bonnet, to
+think how I could tell her now that cowslips are Queen's flowers, the
+common ones as well as the Hose-in-Hose.
+
+Then I looked out the Honeysuckle, it was page 404, and there were no
+pictures. I began at the beginning of the chapter; this was it, and it
+was as funnily spelt as the preface, but I could read it.
+
+"Chap. cv. _Periclymemum_. Honeysuckles.
+
+"The Honisucle that groweth wilde in euery hedge, although it be very
+sweete, yet doe I not bring it into my garden, but let it rest in his
+owne place, to serue their senses that trauell by it, or haue no
+garden."
+
+I had got so far when James came in. He said--"Letters, Miss."
+
+It was the second post, and there was a letter for me, and a book
+parcel; both from Mother.
+
+Mother's letters are always delightful; and, like things she says,
+they often seem to come in answer to something you have been thinking
+about, and which you would never imagine she could know, unless she
+was a witch. This was _the knowing bit_ in that letter:--"_Your dear
+father's note this morning did me more good than bottles of tonic. It
+is due to you, my trustworthy little daughter, to tell you of the bit
+that pleased me most. He says--'The children seem to me to be behaving
+unusually well, and I must say, I believe the credit belongs to Mary.
+She seems to have a genius for keeping them amused, which luckily
+means keeping them out of mischief.' Now, good Little Mother, I wonder
+how you yourself are being entertained? I hope the others are not
+presuming on your unselfishness? Anyhow, I send you a book for your
+own amusement when they leave you a bit of peace and quiet. I have
+long been fond of it in French, and I have found an English
+translation with nice little pictures, and send it to you. I know you
+will enjoy it, because you are so fond of flowers._"
+
+Oh, how glad I was that I had let Adela be the Weeding Woman with a
+good grace, and could open my book parcel with a clear conscience!
+
+I put the old book away and buried myself in the new one.
+
+I never had a nicer. It was called "A Tour Round my Garden," and some
+of the little stones in it--like the Tulip Rebecca, and the
+Discomfited Florists--were very amusing indeed; and some were sad and
+pretty, like the Yellow Roses; and there were delicious bits, like the
+Enriched Woodman and the Connoisseur Deceived; but there was no
+"stuff" in it at all.
+
+Some chapters were duller than others, and at last I got into a very
+dull one, about the vine, and it had a good deal of Greek in it, and
+we have not begun Greek.
+
+But after the Greek, and the part about Bacchus and Anacreon (I did
+not care about _them_; they were not in the least like the Discomfited
+Florists, or the Enriched Woodman!) there came this, and I liked it
+the best of all:--
+
+"At the extremity of my garden the vine extends in long porticos,
+through the arcades of which may be seen trees of all sorts, and
+foliage of all colors. There is an _azerolier_ (a small medlar) which
+is covered in autumn with little apples, producing the richest effect.
+I have given away several grafts of this; far from deriving pleasure
+from the privation of others, I do my utmost to spread and render
+common and vulgar all the trees and plants that I prefer; it is as if
+I multiplied the pleasure and the chances of beholding them of all
+who, like me, really love flowers for their splendor, their grace, and
+their perfume. Those who, on the contrary, are jealous of their
+plants, and only esteem them in proportion with their conviction that
+no one else possesses them, do not love flowers; and be assured that
+it is either chance or poverty which has made them collectors of
+flowers, instead of being collectors of pictures, cameos, medals, or
+any other thing that might serve as an excuse for indulging in all the
+joys of possession, seasoned with the idea that others do not possess.
+
+"I have even carried the vulgarisation of beautiful flowers farther
+than this.
+
+"I ramble about the country near my dwelling, and seek the widest and
+least frequented spots. In these, after clearing and preparing a few
+inches of ground, I scatter the seeds of my most favorite plants,
+which re-sow themselves, perpetuate themselves, and multiply
+themselves. At this moment, whilst the fields display nothing but the
+common red poppy, strollers find with surprise in certain wild nooks
+of our country, the most beautiful double poppies, with their white,
+red, pink, carnation, and variegated blossoms.
+
+"At the foot of an isolated tree, instead of the little bindweed with
+its white flower, may sometimes be found the beautifully climbing
+convolvulus major, of all the lovely colors that can be imagined.
+
+"Sweet peas fasten their tendrils to the bushes, and cover them with
+the deliciously-scented white, rose-color, or white and violet
+butterflies."
+
+"It affords me immense pleasure to fix upon a wild-rose in the hedge,
+and graft upon it red and white cultivated roses, sometimes single
+roses of a magnificent golden yellow, then large Provence roses, or
+others variegated with red and white."
+
+"The rivulets in our neighborhood do not produce on their banks these
+forget-me-nots, with their blue flowers, with which the rivulet of my
+garden is adorned; I mean to save the seed, and scatter it in my
+walks."
+
+"I have observed two young wild quince trees in the nearest wood; next
+spring I will engraft upon them two of the best kinds of pears."
+
+"And then, how I enjoy beforehand and in imagination, the pleasure and
+surprise which the solitary stroller will experience when he meets in
+his rambles with those beautiful flowers and these delicious fruits!"
+
+"This fancy of mine may, one day or another, cause some learned
+botanist who is herborising in these parts a hundred years hence, to
+print a stupid and startling system. All these beautiful flowers will
+have become common in the country, and will give it an aspect peculiar
+to itself; and, perhaps, chance or the wind will cast a few of the
+seeds or some of them amidst the grass which shall cover my forgotten
+grave!"
+
+This was the end of the chapter, and then there was a vignette, a very
+pretty one, of a cross-marked, grass-bound grave.
+
+Some books, generally grown-up ones, put things into your head with a
+sort of rush, and now it suddenly rushed into mine--"_That's what I'll
+be!_ I can think of a name hereafter--but that's what I'll do. I'll
+take seeds and cuttings, and off-shoots from our garden, and set them
+in waste-places, and hedges, and fields, and I'll make an Earthly
+Paradise of Mary's Meadow."
+
+
+CHAPTER VI.
+
+
+The only difficulty about my part was to find a name for it. I might
+have taken the name of the man who wrote the book--it is Alphonse
+Karr,--just as Arthur was going to be called John Parkinson. But I am
+a girl, so it seemed silly to take a man's name. And I wanted some
+kind of title, too, like King's Apothecary and Herbarist, or Weeding
+Woman, and Alphonse Karr does not seem to have had any by-name of that
+sort.
+
+I had put Adela's bonnet on my head to carry it safely, and was still
+sitting thinking, when the others burst into the library.
+
+Arthur was first, waving a sheet of paper; but when Adela saw the
+bonnet, she caught hold of his arm and pushed forward.
+
+"Oh, it's sweet! Mary, dear, you're an angel. You couldn't be better
+if you were a real milliner and lived in Paris. I'm sure you
+couldn't."
+
+"Mary," said Arthur, "remove that bonnet, which by no means becomes
+you, and let Adela take it into a corner and gibber over it to
+herself. I want you to hear this."
+
+"You generally do want the platform," I said, laughing. "Adela, I am
+very glad you like it. To-morrow, if I can find a bit of pink
+tissue-paper, I think I could gum on little pleats round the edge of
+the strings as a finish."
+
+I did not mind how gaudily I dressed the part of Weeding Woman now.
+
+"You are good. Mary. It will make it simply perfect; and, kilts don't
+you think? Not box pleats?"
+
+Arthur groaned.
+
+"You shall have which you like, dear. Now, Arthur, what is it?"
+
+Arthur shook out his paper, gave it a flap with the back of his hand,
+as you do with letters when you are acting, and said--"It's to Mother,
+and when she gets it, she'll be a good deal astonished, I fancy."
+
+When I had heard the letter, I thought so, too.
+
+     "TO THE QUEEN'S MOST EXCELLENT MAIESTIE--
+
+     "_My dear Mother_,--This is to tell you that we have made you
+     Queen of the Blue Robe, and that your son Christopher is a dwarf,
+     and we think you'll both be very much pleased when you hear it.
+     He can do as he likes about having a hump back. When you come
+     home we shall give faire flowers into your Highnesse hands--that
+     is if you'll do what I'm going to ask you, for nobody can grow
+     flowers out of nothing. I want you to write to John--write
+     straight to him, don't put it in your letter to Father--and tell
+     him that you have given us leave to have some of the seedlings
+     out of the frames, and that he's to dig us up a good big clump of
+     daffodils out of the shrubbery--and we'll divide them fairly, for
+     Harry is the Honestest Root-gatherer that ever came over to us.
+     We have turned the whole of our gardens into a _Paradisi in sole
+     Paradisus terrestris_, if you can construe that; but we must have
+     something to make a start. He's got no end of bedding things
+     over--that are doing nothing in the Kitchen Garden and might just
+     as well be in our Earthly Paradise. And please tell him to keep
+     us a tiny pinch of seed at the bottom of every paper when he is
+     sowing the annuals. A little goes a long way, particularly of
+     poppies. And you might give him a hint to let us have a
+     flower-pot or two now and then (I'm sure he takes ours if he
+     finds any of our dead window plants lying about), and that he
+     needn't be so mighty mean about the good earth in the potting
+     shed, or the labels either, they're dirt cheap. Mind you write
+     straight. If only you let John know that the gardens don't
+     entirely belong to him, you'll see that what's spare from the big
+     garden would more than set us going; and it shall further
+     encourage him to accomplish the remainder, who in praying that
+     your Highnesse may enjoy the heavenly Paradise after the many
+     years fruition of this earthly,
+
+     "Submitteth to be, Your Maiestie's, in all humble devotion,
+
+     JOHN PARKINSON,
+
+     "King's Apothecary and Herbalist.
+
+     "P. S.--It was Mary's idea."
+
+"My _dear_ Arthur!" said I.
+
+"Well, I know it's not very well mixed," said Arthur. "Not half so
+well as I intended at first. I meant to write it all in the Parkinson
+style. But then, I thought, if I put the part about John in queer
+language and old spelling, she mightn't understand what we want. But
+every word of the end comes out of the Dedication; I copied it the
+other day, and I think she'll find it a puzzlewig when she comes to
+it."
+
+After which Arthur folded his paper and put it into an envelope which
+he licked copiously, and closed the letter with a great deal of
+display. But then his industry coming to an abrupt end, as it often
+did, he tossed it to me saying, "You can address it, Mary;" so I
+enclosed it in my own letter to thank Mother for the book, and I fancy
+she did write to our gardener, for he gave us a good lot of things,
+and was much more good-natured than usual.
+
+After Arthur had tossed his letter to me, he clasped his hands over
+his head and walked up and down thinking. I thought he was calculating
+what he should be able to get out of John, for when you are planning
+about a garden, you seem to have to do so much calculating. Suddenly
+he stopped in front of me and threw down his arms. "Mary," he said,
+"if Mother were at home, she _would_ despise us for selfishness,
+wouldn't she just?"
+
+"I don't think it's selfish to want spare things for our gardens, if
+she gives us leave," said I.
+
+"I'm not thinking of that," said Arthur; "and you're not selfish, you
+never are; but she would despise me, and Adela, and Harry, because
+we've taken your game, and got our parts, and you've made that
+preposterous bonnet for Adela to be the Weeding Woman in----much
+she'll weed!----"
+
+"I _shall_ weed," said Adela.
+
+"Oh, yes! You'll weed,--Groundsel!--and leave Mary to get up the docks
+and dandelions, and clear away the heap. But, never mind. Here we've
+taken Mary's game, and she hasn't even got a part."
+
+"Yes," said I, "I have; I have got a capital part. I have only to
+think of a name."
+
+"How shall you be dressed?" asked Adela.
+
+"I don't know yet," said I. "I have only just thought of the part."
+
+"Are you sure it's a good-enough one?" asked Harry, with a grave and
+remorseful air; "because, if not, you must take Francis le Vean. Girls
+are called Frances sometimes."
+
+I explained, and I read aloud the bit that had struck my fancy.
+
+Arthur got restless half-way through, and took out the Book of
+Paradise. His letter was on his mind. But Adela was truly delighted.
+
+"Oh, Mary," she said, "it is lovely. And it just suits you. It suits
+you much better than being a Queen."
+
+"Much better," said I.
+
+"You'll be exactly the reverse of me," said Harry. "When I'm digging
+up, you'll be putting in."
+
+"Mary," said Arthur, from the corner where he was sitting with the
+Book of Paradise in his lap, "what have you put a mark in the place
+about honeysuckle for?"
+
+"Oh, only because I was just reading there when James brought the
+letters."
+
+"John Parkinson can't have been quite so nice a man as Alphonse Karr,"
+said Adela; "not so unselfish. He took care of the Queen's Gardens,
+but he didn't think of making the lanes and hedges nice for poor
+wayfarers."
+
+I was in the rocking-chair, and I rocked harder to shake up something
+that was coming into my head. Then I remembered.
+
+"Yes, Adela, he did--a little. He wouldn't root up the honeysuckle out
+of the hedges (and I suppose he wouldn't let his root-gatherers grub
+it up, either); he didn't put it in the Queen's Gardens, but left it
+wild outside----"
+
+"To serve their senses that travel by it, or have no garden,"
+interrupted Arthur, reading from the book, "and, oh, Mary! that
+reminds me--_travel_--_travellers_. I've got a name for your part just
+coming into my head. But it dodges out again like a wire worm through
+a three pronged fork. _Travel_--_traveler_--_travelers_--what's the
+common name for the--oh, dear! the what's his name that scrambles
+about in the hedges. A flower--you know?"
+
+"Deadly Nightshade?" said Harry.
+
+"Deadly fiddlestick!----"
+
+"Bryony?" I suggested.
+
+"Oh, no; it begins with C."
+
+"Clematis?" said Adela.
+
+"Clematis. Right you are, Adela. And the common name for Clematis is
+Traveller's Joy. And that's the name for you, Mary, because you're
+going to serve their senses that travel by hedges and ditches and
+perhaps have no garden."
+
+"Traveller's Joy," said Harry. "Hooray!"
+
+"Hooray!" said Adela, and she waved the Weeding Woman's bonnet.
+
+It was a charming name, but it was too good for me, and I said so.
+
+Arthur jumped on the rockers, and rocked me to stop my talking. When I
+was far back, he took the point of my chin in his two hands and lifted
+up my cheeks to be kissed, saying in his very kindest way, "It's not a
+bit too good for you--it's you all over."
+
+Then he jumped off as suddenly as he had jumped on, and as I went back
+with a bounce he cried, "Oh, Mary! give me back that letter. I must
+put another postscript and another puzzlewig. P.P.S.--Excellent
+Majesty: Mary will still be our Little Mother on all common occasions,
+as you wished, but in the Earthly Paradise we call her Traveller's
+Joy."
+
+
+CHAPTER VII.
+
+
+There are two or three reasons why the part of Traveller's Joy suited
+me very well. In the first place it required a good deal of trouble,
+and I like taking trouble. Then John was willing to let me do many
+things he would not have allowed the others to do, because he could
+trust me to be careful and to mind what he said.
+
+On each side of the long walk in the kitchen garden there are flowers
+between you and the vegetables, herbaceous borders, with nice big
+clumps of things that have suckers, and off-shoots and seedlings at
+their feet.
+
+"The Long Walk's the place to steal from if I wasn't an _honest_
+Root-gatherer," said Harry.
+
+John had lovely poppies there that summer. When I read about the
+poppies Alphonse Karr sowed in the wild nooks of his native country,
+it made me think of John's French poppies, and paeony poppies, and
+ranunculus poppies, and carnation poppies, some very large, some quite
+small, some round and neat, some full and ragged like Japanese
+chrysanthemums, but all of such beautiful shades of red, rose,
+crimson, pink, pale blush, and white, that if they had but smelt like
+carnations instead of smelling like laudanum when you have the
+toothache, they would have been quite perfect.
+
+In one way they are nicer than carnations. They have such lots of
+seed, and it is so easy to get. I asked John to let me have some of
+the heads. He could not possibly want them all, for each head has
+enough in it to sow two or three yards of a border. He said I might
+have what seeds I liked, if I used scissors, and did not drag things
+out of the ground by pulling. But I was not to let the young gentlemen
+go seed gathering. "Boys be so destructive," John said.
+
+After a time, however, I persuaded him to let Harry transplant
+seedlings of the things that sow themselves and come up in the autumn,
+if they came up a certain distance from the parent plants. Harry got a
+lot of things for our Paradise in this way; indeed he would not have
+got much otherwise, except wild flowers; and, as he said, "How can I
+be your Honest Root-gatherer if I mayn't gather anything up by the
+roots?"
+
+I can't help laughing sometimes to think of the morning when he left
+off being our Honest Root-gatherer. He did look so funny, and so like
+Chris.
+
+A day or two before, the Scotch Gardener had brought Saxon to see us,
+and a new kind of mouldiness that had got into his grape vines to show
+to John.
+
+He was very cross with Saxon for walking on my garden. (And I am sure
+I quite forgave him, for I am so fond of him, and he knew no better,
+poor dear!) But though he kicked Saxon, the Scotch Gardener was kind
+to us. He told us that the reason our gardens do not do so well as the
+big garden, and that my _Jules Margottin_ has not such big roses as
+John's _Jules Margottin_ is because we have never renewed the soil.
+
+Arthur and Harry got very much excited about this. They made the
+Scotch Gardener tell them what good soil ought to be made of, and all
+the rest of the day they talked of nothing but _compost_. Indeed
+Arthur would come into my room and talk about compost after I had gone
+to bed.
+
+Father's farming man was always much more good-natured to us than John
+ever was. He would give us anything we wanted. Warm milk when the cows
+were milked, or sweet-pea sticks, or bran to stuff the dolls' pillows.
+I've known him take his hedging bill, in his dinner hour, and cut fuel
+for our beacon-fire, when we were playing at a French Invasion.
+Nothing could be kinder.
+
+Perhaps we do not tease him so much as we tease John. But when I say
+that, Arthur says, "Now, Mary, that's just how you explain away
+things. The real difference between John and Michael is, that Michael
+is good-natured and John is not. Catch John showing me the duck's nest
+by the pond, or letting you into the cow-house to kiss the new calf
+between the eyes--if he were farm man instead of gardener!"
+
+And the night Arthur sat in my room, talking about compost, he said,
+"I shall get some good stuff out of Michael, I know; and Harry and I
+see our way to road scrapings if we can't get sand; and we mean to
+take precious good care John doesn't have all the old leaves to
+himself. It's the top spit that puzzles us, and loam is the most
+important thing of all."
+
+"What is top spit?" I asked.
+
+"It's the earth you get when you dig up squares of grass out of a
+field like the paddock. The new earth that's just underneath. I expect
+John got a lot when he turfed that new piece by the pond, but I don't
+believe he'd spare us a flower-pot full to save his life."
+
+"Don't quarrel with John, Arthur. It's no good."
+
+"I won't quarrel with him if he behaves himself," said Arthur, "but we
+mean to have some top spit, somehow."
+
+"If you aggravate him he'll only complain of us to Father."
+
+"I know," said Arthur hotly, "and beastly mean of him, too, when he
+knows what Father is about this sort of thing."
+
+"I know it's mean. But what's the good of fighting when you'll only
+get the worst of it?"
+
+"Why to show that you're in the right, and that you know you are,"
+said Arthur. "Good night, Mary. We'll have a compost heap of our own
+this autumn, mark my words."
+
+Next day, in spite of my remonstrances, Arthur and Harry came to open
+war with John, and loudly and long did they rehearse their
+grievances, when we were out of Father's hearing.
+
+"Have we ever swept our own walks, except that once, long ago, when
+the German women came round with threepenny brooms?" asked Arthur,
+throwing out his right arm, as if he were making a speech. "And think
+of all the years John has been getting leaf mould for himself out of
+our copper beech leaves and now refuses us a barrow load of loam!"
+
+The next morning but one Harry was late for breakfast, and then it
+seemed that he was not dressing; he had gone out,--very early, one of
+the servants said. It frightened me, and I went out to look for him.
+
+When I came upon him in our gardens, it was he who was frightened.
+
+"Oh, dear," he exclaimed, "I thought you were John."
+
+I have often seen Harry dirty--very dirty,--but from the mud on his
+boots to the marks on his face where he had pushed the hair out of his
+eyes with earthy fingers, I never saw him quite so grubby before. And
+if there had been a clean place left in any part of his clothes well
+away from the ground, that spot must have been soiled by a huge and
+very dirty sack, under the weight of which his poor little shoulders
+were bent nearly to his knees.
+
+"What are you doing, Honest Root-gatherer?" I asked; "are you turning
+yourself into a hump-backed dwarf?"
+
+"I'm not honest, and I'm not a root-gatherer just now," said Harry,
+when he had got breath after setting down his load. He spoke shyly and
+a little surlily like Chris when he is in mischief.
+
+"Harry, what's that?"
+
+"It's a sack I borrowed from Michael. It won't hurt it, it's had
+mangel-wurzels in already."
+
+"What have you got in it now? It looks dreadfully heavy."
+
+"It _is_ heavy, I can tell you," said Harry, with one more rub of his
+dirty fingers over his face.
+
+"You look half dead. What is it?"
+
+"It's top spit;" and Harry began to discharge his load on to the walk.
+
+"Oh, Harry, where did you get it?"
+
+"Out of the paddock. I've been digging up turfs and getting this out,
+and putting the turfs back, and stamping them down not to show, ever
+since six o'clock. It _was_ hard work; and I was so afraid of John
+coming. Mary, you won't tell tales?"
+
+"No, Harry. But I don't think you ought to have taken it without
+Mother's leave."
+
+"I don't think you can call it stealing," said Harry. "Fields are a
+kind of wild places anyhow, and the paddock belongs to Father, and it
+certainly doesn't belong to John."
+
+"No," said I, doubtfully.
+
+"I won't get any more; it's dreadfully hard work," said Harry, but as
+he shook the sack out and folded it up, he added (in rather a
+satisfied tone), "I've got a good deal."
+
+I helped him to wash himself for breakfast, and half way through he
+suddenly smiled and said, "John Parkinson will be glad when he sees
+_you-know-what_, Mary, whatever the other John thinks of it."
+
+But Harry did not cut any more turfs without leave, for he told me
+that he had a horrid dream that night of waking up in prison with a
+warder looking at him through a hole in the door of his cell, and
+finding out that he was in penal servitude for stealing top spit from
+the bottom of the paddock, and Father would not take him out of
+prison, and that Mother did not know about it.
+
+However, he and Arthur made a lot of compost. They said we couldn't
+possibly have a Paradise without it.
+
+It made them very impatient. We always want the spring and summer and
+autumn and winter to get along faster than they do. But this year
+Arthur and Harry were very impatient with summer.
+
+They were nearly caught one day by Father coming home just as they had
+got through the gates with Michael's old sack full of road-scrapings,
+instead of sand (we have not any sand growing near us, and silver
+sand is rather dear), but we did get leaves together and stacked them
+to rot into leaf mould.
+
+Leaf mould is splendid stuff, but it takes a long time for the leaves
+to get mouldy, and it takes a great many, too. Arthur is rather
+impatient, and he used to say--"I never saw leaves stick on to
+branches in such a way. I mean to get into some of these old trees and
+give them a good shaking to remind them what time of year it is. If I
+don't we shan't have anything like enough leaves for our compost."
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII.
+
+
+Mother was very much surprised by Arthur's letter, but not so much
+puzzled as he expected. She knew Parkinson's _Paradisus_ quite well,
+and only wrote to me to ask; "What are the boys after with the old
+books? Does your Father know?"
+
+But when I told her that he had given us leave to be in the library,
+and that we took great care of the books, and how much we enjoyed the
+ones about gardening, and all that we were going to do, she was very
+kind indeed, and promised to put on a blue dress and lace ruffles and
+be Queen of our Earthly Paradise as soon as she came home.
+
+When she did come home she was much better, and so was Chris. He was
+delighted to be our Dwarf, but he wanted to have a hump, and he would
+have such a big one that it would not keep in its place, and kept
+slipping under his arm and into all sorts of queer positions.
+
+Not one of us enjoyed our new game more than Chris did, and he was
+always teasing me to tell him the story I had told the others, and to
+read out the names of the flowers which "the real Queen" had in her
+"real paradise." He made Mother promise to try to get him a bulb of
+the real Dwarf Daffodil as his next birthday present, to put in his
+own garden.
+
+"And I'll give you some compost," said Arthur. "It'll be ever so much
+better than a stupid book with 'stuff' in it."
+
+Chris did seem much stronger. He had color in his cheeks, and his head
+did not look so large. But he seemed to puzzle over things in it as
+much as ever, and he was just as odd and quaint.
+
+One warm day I had taken the "Tour round my Garden," and was sitting
+near the bush in the little wood behind our house, when Chris came
+after me with a Japanese fan in his hand, and sat down cross-legged at
+my feet. As I was reading, and Mother has taught us not to interrupt
+people when they are reading, he said nothing, but there he sat.
+
+"What is it Chris?" said I.
+
+"I am discontented," said Chris.
+
+"I'm very sorry," said I.
+
+"I don't think I'm selfish, particularly, but I'm discontented."
+
+"What about?"
+
+"Oh, Mary, I do wish I had not been away when you invented Paradise,
+then I should have had a name in the game."
+
+"You've got a name, Chris. You're the Dwarf."
+
+"Ah, but what was the Dwarf's name?"
+
+"I don't know," I admitted.
+
+"No; that's just it. I've only one name, and Arthur and Harry have
+two. Arthur is a Pothecary" (Chris could never be induced to accept
+Apothecary as one word), "and he's John Parkinson as well. Harry is
+Honest Root-gatherer, and he is Francis le Vean. If I'd not been away
+I should have had two names."
+
+"You can easily have two names," said I. "We'll call the Dwarf Thomas
+Brown."
+
+Chris shook his big head.
+
+"No, no. That wasn't his name; I know it wasn't. It's only stuff. I
+want another name out of the old book."
+
+I dared not tell him that the dwarf was not in the old book. I said:
+
+"My dear Chris, you really are discontented; we can't all have double
+names. Adela has only one name, she is Weeding Woman and nothing else;
+and I have only one name, I'm Traveller's Joy, and that's all."
+
+"But you and Adela are girls," said Chris complacently. "The boys have
+two names."
+
+I suppressed some resentment, for Christopher's eyes were beginning to
+look weary, and said:
+
+"Shall I read to you for a bit?"
+
+"No, don't read. Tell me things out of the old book. Tell me about the
+Queen's flowers. Don't tell me about daffodils, they make me think
+what a long way off my birthday is, and I'm quite discontented
+enough."
+
+And Chris sighed, and lay down on the grass, with one arm under his
+head, and his fan in his hand; and, as well as I could remember, I
+told him all about the different varieties of Cowslips, down to the
+Franticke, or Foolish Cowslip, and he became quite happy.
+
+Dear Father is rather short sighted, but he can hold a round glass in
+his eye without cutting himself. It was the other eye which was next
+to Chris at prayers the following morning; but he saw his legs, and
+the servants had hardly got out of the hall before he shouted "Pull up
+your stockings, Chris!"--and then to Mother, "Why do you keep that
+sloven of a girl Bessy, if she can't dress the children decently? But
+I can't conceive what made you put that child into knickerbockers, he
+can't keep his stockings up."
+
+"Yes I can," said Christopher, calmly, looking at his legs.
+
+"Then what have you got 'em down for?" shouted Father.
+
+"They're not all down," said Chris, his head still bent over his
+knees, till I began to fear he would have a fit.
+
+"One of 'em is, anyhow. I saw it at prayers. Pull it up."
+
+"Two of them are," said Christopher, never lifting his admiring gaze
+from his stockings. "Two of them are down, and two of them are up,
+quite up, quite tidy."
+
+Dear Father rubbed his glass and put it back into his eye.
+
+"Why, how many stockings have you got on?"
+
+"Four," said Chris, smiling serenely at his legs; "and it isn't
+Bessy's fault. I put 'em all on myself, everyone of them."
+
+At this minute James brought in the papers, and Father only laughed,
+and said, "I never saw such a chap," and began to read. He is very
+fond of Christopher, and Chris is never afraid of him.
+
+I was going out of the room, and Chris followed me into the hall, and
+drew my attention to his legs, which were clothed in four stockings;
+one pair, as he said, being drawn tidily up over his knees, the other
+pair turned down with some neatness in folds a little above his
+ankles.
+
+"Mary," he said, "I'm contented now."
+
+"I'm very glad, Chris. But do leave off staring at your legs. All the
+blood will run into your head."
+
+"I wish things wouldn't always get into _my_ head, and nobody else's,"
+said Chris, peevishly, as he raised it; but when he looked back at his
+stockings, they seemed to comfort him again.
+
+"Mary, I've found another name for myself."
+
+"Dear Chris! I'm so glad."
+
+"It's a real one, out of the old book. I thought of it entirely by
+myself."
+
+"Good Dwarf. What is your name?"
+
+"_Hose-in-Hose,_" said Christopher, still smiling down upon his legs.
+
+
+CHAPTER IX.
+
+
+Alas for the hose-in-hose!
+
+I laughed over Christopher and his double stockings, and I danced for
+joy when Bessy's Aunt told me that she had got me a fine lot of roots
+of double cowslips. I never guessed what misery I was about to suffer,
+because of the hose-in-hose.
+
+I had almost forgotten that Bessy's Aunt knew double cowslips. After I
+became Traveller's Joy I was so busy with wayside planting that I had
+thought less of my own garden than usual, and had allowed Arthur to do
+what he liked with it as part of the Earthly Paradise (and he was
+always changing his plans), but Bessy's Aunt had not forgotten about
+it, which was very good of her.
+
+The Squire's Weeding Woman is old enough to be Bessy's Aunt, but she
+has an aunt of her own, who lives seven miles on the other side of the
+Moor, and the Weeding Woman does not get to see her very often. It is
+a very out-of-the-way village, and she has to wait for chances of a
+cart and team coming and going from one of the farms, and so get a
+lift.
+
+It was the Weeding Woman's Aunt who sent me the hose-in-hose.
+
+The Weeding Woman told me--"Aunt be mortal fond of her flowers, but
+she've no notions of gardening, not in the ways of a gentleman's
+garden. But she be after 'em all along, so well as the roomatiz in her
+back do let her, with an old shovel and a bit of stuff to keep the
+frost out, one time, and the old shovel and a bit of stuff to keep 'em
+moistened from the drought, another time; cuddling of 'em like
+Christians. Ee zee, Miss, Aunt be advanced in years; her family be off
+her mind, zum married, zum buried; and it zim as if her flowers be
+like new childern for her, spoilt childern, too, as I zay, and most
+fuss about they that be least worth it, zickly uns and contrairy uns,
+as parents will. Many's time I do say to she--'Th' old Zquire's
+garden, now, 'twould zim strange to thee, sartinly 'twould! How would
+'ee feel to see Gardener zowing's spring plants by the hunderd, and
+a-throwing of 'em away by the score when beds be vull, and turning of
+un out for bedding plants, and throwing they away when he've made his
+cuttings?' And she 'low she couldn't abear it, no more'n see Herod a
+mass-sakering of the Innocents. But if 'ee come to Bible, I do say
+Aunt put me in mind of the par'ble of the talents, she do, for what
+you give her she make ten of, while other folks be losing what they
+got. And 'tis well too, for if 'twas not for givin' of un away,
+seeing's she lose nothin', and can't abear to destry nothin', and
+never takes un up but to set un again, six in place of one, as I say,
+with such a mossel of a garden, 'Aunt, where would you be?' And she
+'low she can't tell, but the Lard would provide. 'Thank He,' I says,
+'You be so out o' way, and 'ee back so bad, and past travelling, zo
+there be no chance of 'ee ever seein' Old Zquire's Gardener's houses
+and they stove plants;' for if Gardener give un a pot, sure's death
+her'd set it in the chimbly nook on frosty nights, and put bed-quilt
+over un, and any cold corner would do for she."
+
+At this point the Weeding Woman became short of breath, and I managed
+to protest against taking so many plants of the hose-in-hose.
+
+"Take un and welcome, my dear, take un and welcome," replied Bessy's
+Aunt. "I did say to Aunt to keep two or dree, but 'One be aal I want,'
+her says, 'I'll have so many agin in a few years, dividin' of un in
+autumn,' her says. 'Thee've one foot in grave Aunt,' says I, 'it don't
+altogether become 'ee to forecast autumns,' I says, 'when next may be
+your latter end, 's like as not.' 'Niece,' her says, 'I be no ways
+presuming. His will be done,' her says, 'but if I'm spared I'll rear
+un, an if I'm took, 'twill be where I sha'n't want un. Zo let young
+lady have un,' her says. And there a be!"
+
+When I first saw the nice little plants, I did think of my own garden,
+but not for long. My next and final thought was--"Mary's Meadow!"
+
+Since I became Traveller's Joy, I had chiefly been busy in the
+hedge-rows by the high-roads, and in waste places, like the old
+quarry, and very bare and trampled bits, where there seemed to be no
+flowers at all.
+
+You cannot say that of Mary's Meadow. Not to be a garden, it is one of
+the most flowery places I know. I did once begin a list of all that
+grows in it, but it was in one of Arthur's old exercise books, which
+he had "thrown in," in a bargain we had, and there were very few blank
+pages left. I had thought a couple of pages would be more than enough,
+so I began with rather full accounts of the flowers, but I used up
+the book long before I had written out one half of what blossoms in
+Mary's Meadow.
+
+Wild roses, and white bramble, and hawthorn, and dogwood, with its
+curious red flowers; and nuts, and maple, and privet, and all sorts of
+bushes in the hedge, far more than one would think; and ferns, and the
+stinking iris, which has such splendid berries, in the ditch--the
+ditch on the lower side where it is damp, and where I meant to sow
+forget-me-nots, like Alphonse Karr, for there are none there as it
+happens. On the other side, at the top of the field, it is dry, and
+blue succory grows, and grows out on the road beyond. The most
+beautiful blue possible, but so hard to pick. And there are Lent
+lilies, and lords and ladies, and ground ivy, which smells herby when
+you find it, trailing about and turning the color of Mother's "aurora"
+wool in green winters; and sweet white violets, and blue dog violets,
+and primroses, of course, and two or three kinds of orchis, and all
+over the field cowslips, cowslips, cowslips--to please the
+nightingale.
+
+And I wondered if the nightingale would find out the hose-in-hose,
+when I had planted six of them in the sunniest, cosiest corner of
+Mary's Meadow.
+
+For this was what I resolved to do, though I kept my resolve to
+myself, for which I was afterwards very glad. I did not tell the
+others because I thought that Arthur might want some of the plants for
+our Earthly Paradise, and I wanted to put them all in Mary's Meadow.
+I said to myself, like Bessy's great-aunt, that "if I was spared" I
+would go next year and divide the roots of the six, and bring some
+offsets to our gardens, but I would keep none back now. The
+nightingale should have them all.
+
+We had been busy in our gardens, and in the roads and bye-lanes, and I
+had not been in Mary's Meadow for a long time before the afternoon
+when I put my little trowel, and a bottle of water, and the six
+hose-in-hose into a basket, and was glad to get off quietly and alone
+to plant them. The highways and hedges were very dusty, but there it
+was very green. The nightingale had long been silent, I do not know
+where he was, but the rooks were not at all silent; they had been
+holding a parliament at the upper end of the field this morning, and
+were now all talking at once, and flapping about the tops of the big
+elms which were turning bright yellow, whilst down below a flight of
+starlings had taken their place, and sat in the prettiest circles; and
+groups of hedge-sparrows flew and mimicked them. And in the fields
+round about the sheep baaed, and the air, which was very sweet, was so
+quiet that these country noises were the only sounds to be heard, and
+they could be heard from very far away.
+
+I had found the exact spot I wanted, and had planted four of the
+hose-in-hose, and watered them from the bottle, and had the fifth in
+my hand, and the sixth still in the basket, when all these nice noises
+were drowned by a loud harsh shout which made me start, and sent the
+flight of starlings into the next field, and made the hedge-sparrows
+jump into the hedge.
+
+And when I looked up I saw the Old Squire coming towards me, and
+storming and shaking his fist at me as he came. But with the other
+hand he held Saxon by the collar, who was struggling to get away from
+him and to go to me.
+
+I had so entirely forgotten about Father's quarrel with the Squire,
+that when the sight of the old gentleman in a rage suddenly reminded
+me, I was greatly stupefied and confused, and really did not at first
+hear what he said. But when I understood that he was accusing me of
+digging cowslips out of his field, I said at once (and pretty loud,
+for he was deaf) that I was not digging up anything, but was planting
+double cowslips to grow up and spread amongst the common ones.
+
+I suppose it did sound rather unlikely, as the Old Squire knew nothing
+about our game, but a thing being unlikely, is no reason for calling
+truthful people liars, and that was what the Old Squire called me.
+
+It choked me, and when he said I was shameless, and that he had caught
+me with the plants upon me, and yelled to me to empty my basket, I
+threw away the fifth and sixth hose-in-hose as if they had been
+adders, but I could not speak again. He must have been beside himself
+with rage, for he called me all sorts of names, and said I was my
+father's own child, a liar and a thief. Whilst he was talking about
+sending me to prison (and I thought of Harry's dream, and turned cold
+with fear), Saxon was tugging to get to me, and at last he got away
+and came rushing up.
+
+_Now_ I knew that the Old Squire was holding Saxon back because he
+thought Saxon wanted to worry me as a trespasser, but I don't know
+whether he let Saxon go at last, because he thought I deserved to be
+worried, or whether Saxon got away of himself. When his paws were
+almost on me the Old Squire left off abusing me, and yelled to the
+dog, who at last, very unwillingly, went back to him, but when he just
+got to the Squire's feet he stopped, and pawed the ground in the funny
+way he sometimes does, and looked up at his master as much as to say,
+"You see it's only play," and then turned round and raced back to me
+as hard as he could lay legs to ground. This time he reached me, and
+jumped to lick my face, and I threw my arms round his neck and burst
+into tears.
+
+When you are crying and kissing at the same time, you cannot hear
+anything else, so what more the Old Squire said I do not know.
+
+[Illustration: I THREW MY ARMS ROUND HIS NECK AND BURST INTO TEARS.]
+
+I picked up my basket and trowel at once, and fled homewards as fast
+as I could go, which was not very fast, so breathless was I with
+tears and shame and fright.
+
+When I was safe in our grounds I paused and looked back. The Old
+Squire was still there, shouting and gesticulating, and Saxon was at
+his heels, and over the hedge two cows were looking at him; but the
+rooks and the starlings were far off in distant trees and fields.
+
+And I sobbed afresh when I remembered that I had been called a liar
+and a thief, and had lost every one of my hose-in-hose; and this was
+all that had come of trying to make an Earthly Paradise of Mary's
+Meadow, and of taking upon myself the name of Traveller's Joy.
+
+
+CHAPTER X.
+
+
+I told no one. It was bad enough to think of by myself. I could not
+have talked about it. But every day I expected that the Old Squire
+would send a letter or a policeman, or come himself, and rage and
+storm, and tell Father.
+
+He never did; and no one seemed to suspect that anything had gone
+wrong, except that Mother fidgeted because I looked ill, and would
+show me to Dr. Solomon. It is a good thing doctors tell you what they
+think is the matter, and don't ask you what you think, for I could not
+have told him about the Squire. He said I was below par, and that it
+was our abominable English climate, and he sent me a bottle of tonic.
+And when I had taken half the bottle, and had begun to leave off
+watching for the policeman, I looked quite well again. So I took the
+rest, not to waste it, and thought myself very lucky. My only fear now
+was that Bessy's aunt might ask after the hose-in-hose. But she never
+did.
+
+I had one more fright, where I least expected it. It had never
+occurred to me that Lady Catherine would take an interest in our game,
+and want to know what we had done, and what we were doing, and what we
+were going to do, or I should have been far more afraid of her than of
+Bessy's aunt. For the Weeding Woman has a good deal of delicacy, and
+often begs pardon for taking liberties; but if Aunt Catherine takes an
+interest, and wants to know, she asks one question after another, and
+does not think whether you like to answer or not.
+
+She took an interest in our game after one of Christopher's luncheons
+with her.
+
+She often asks Chris to go there to luncheon, all by himself. Father
+is not very fond of his going, chiefly, I fancy, because he is so fond
+of Chris, and misses him. Sometimes, in the middle of luncheon, he
+looks at Christopher's empty place, and says, "I wonder what those two
+are talking about over their pudding. They are the queerest pair of
+friends." If we ask Chris what they have talked about, he wags his
+head, and looks very well pleased with himself, and says, "Lots of
+things. I tell her things, and she tells me things." And that is all
+we can get out of him.
+
+A few weeks afterwards, after I lost the hose-in-hose, Chris went to
+have luncheon with Aunt Catherine, and he came back rather later than
+usual.
+
+"You must have been telling each other a good deal to-day, Chris," I
+said.
+
+"I told her lots," said Chris, complacently. "She didn't tell me
+nothing, hardly. But I told her lots. My apple fritter got cold whilst
+I was telling it. She sent it away, and had two hot ones, new, on
+purpose for me."
+
+"What _did_ you tell her!"
+
+"I told her your story; she liked it very much. And I told her
+Daffodils, and about my birthday; and I told her Cowslips--all of
+them. Oh, I told her lots. She didn't tell me nothing."
+
+A few days later, Aunt Catherine asked us to tea--all of us--me,
+Arthur, Adela, Harry, and Chris. And she asked us all about our game.
+When Harry said, "I dig up, but Mary plants--not in our garden, but in
+wild places, and woods, and hedges, and fields," Lady Catherine blew
+her nose very loud, and said, "I should think you don't do much
+digging and planting in that field your Father went to law about?" and
+my teeth chattered so with fright that I think Lady Catherine would
+have heard them if she hadn't been blowing her nose. But, luckily for
+me, Arthur said, "Oh, we never go near Mary's Meadow, now, we're so
+busy." And then Aunt Catherine asked what made us think of my name,
+and I repeated most of the bit from Alphonse Karr, for I knew it by
+heart now; and Arthur repeated what John Parkinson says about the
+"Honisuckle that groweth wild in every hedge," and how he left it
+there, "to serve their senses that travel by it, or have no garden;"
+and then he said, "So Mary is called Traveller's Joy, because she
+plants flowers in the hedges, to serve their senses that travel by
+them."
+
+"And who serves them that have no garden?" asked Aunt Catherine,
+sticking her gold glasses over her nose, and looking at us.
+
+"None of us do," said Arthur, after thinking for a minute.
+
+"Humph!" said Aunt Catherine.
+
+Next time Chris was asked to luncheon, I was asked too. Father laughed
+at me, and teased me, but I went.
+
+I was very much amused by the airs which Chris gave himself at table.
+He was perfectly well behaved, but, in his quiet, old-fashioned way,
+he certainly gave himself airs. We have only one man indoors--James;
+but Aunt Catherine has three--a butler, a footman, and a second
+footman. The second footman kept near Christopher, who sat opposite
+Aunt Catherine, (she made me sit on one side), and seemed to watch to
+attend upon him; but if Christopher did want anything, he always
+ignored this man, and asked the butler for it, and called him by his
+name.
+
+After a bit, Aunt Catherine began to talk about the game again.
+
+"Have you got anyone to serve them that have no garden, yet?" she
+asked.
+
+Christopher shook his head, and said "No."
+
+"Humph," said Aunt Catherine; "better take me into the game."
+
+"Could you be of any use?" asked Christopher. "Toast and water,
+Chambers."
+
+The butler nodded, as majestically as Chris himself, to the second
+footman, who flew to replenish the silver mug, which had been Lady
+Catherine's when she was a little girl. When Christopher had drained
+it (he is a very thirsty boy), he repeated the question.
+
+"Do you think you could be of any use?"
+
+Mr. Chambers, the butler, never seems to hear anything that people
+say, except when they ask for something to eat or drink; and he does
+not often hear that, because he watches to see what you want, and
+gives it of himself, or sends it by the footman. He looks just as if
+he was having his photograph taken, staring at a point on the wall and
+thinking of nothing; but when Christopher repeated his question I saw
+Chambers frown, I believe he thinks Christopher presumes on Lady
+Catherine's kindness, and does not approve of it.
+
+It is quite the other way with Aunt Catherine. Just when you would
+think she must turn angry, and scold Chris for being rude, she only
+begins to laugh, and shakes like a jelly (she is very stout) and
+encourages him. She said,
+
+"Take care all that toast and water doesn't get into your head,
+Chris."
+
+She said that to vex him, because, ever since he heard that he had
+water on the brain, Chris is very easily affronted about his head. He
+was affronted now, and began to eat his bread-and-butter pudding in
+silence, Lady Catherine still shaking and laughing. Then she wiped her
+eyes, and said,
+
+"Never mind, old man, I'm going to tell you something. Put the sugar
+and cream on the table, Chambers, and you needn't wait."
+
+The men went out quietly, and Aunt Catherine went on:
+
+"Where do you think I was yesterday? In the new barracks--a place I
+set my face against ever since they began to build it, and spoil one
+of my best peeps from the Rhododendron Walk. I went to see a young
+cousin of mine, who was fool enough to marry a poor officer, and have
+a lot of little boys and girls, no handsomer than you, Chris."
+
+"Are they as handsome?" said Chris, who had recovered himself, and was
+selecting currants from his pudding, and laying them aside for a final
+_bonne bouche_.
+
+"Humph! Perhaps not. But they eat so much pudding, and wear out so
+many boots, that they are all too poor to live anywhere except in
+barracks."
+
+Christopher laid down his spoon, and looked as he always looks when he
+is hearing a sad story.
+
+"Is barracks like the workhouse, Aunt Catherine?" he asked.
+
+"A good deal like the workhouse," said Aunt Catherine. Then she went
+on--"I told her Mother I could not begin calling at the barracks.
+There are some very low streets close by, and my coachman said he
+couldn't answer for his horses with bugles, and perhaps guns, going
+off when you least expect them. I told her I would ask them to dinner;
+and I did, but they were engaged. Well, yesterday I changed my mind,
+and I told Harness that I meant to go to the barracks, and the horses
+would have to take me. So we started. When we were going along the
+upper road, between the high hedges, what do you think I saw?"
+
+Chris had been going on with his pudding again, but he paused to make
+a guess.
+
+"A large cannon, just going off?"
+
+"No. If I'd seen that, you wouldn't have seen any more of me. I saw
+masses of wild clematis scrambling everywhere, so that the hedge
+looked as if somebody had been dressing it up in tufts of feathers."
+
+As she said this, Lady Catherine held out her hand to me across the
+table very kindly. She has a fat hand, covered with rings, and I put
+my hand into it.
+
+"And what do you think came into my head?" she asked.
+
+"Toast and water," said Chris, maliciously.
+
+"No, you monkey. I began to think of hedge-flowers, and travellers,
+and Traveller's Joy."
+
+Aunt Catherine shook my hand here, and dropped it.
+
+"And you thought how nice it was for the poor travellers to have such
+nice flowers," said Chris, smiling, and wagging his head up and down.
+
+"Nothing of the kind," said Aunt Catherine, brusquely. "I thought what
+lots of flowers the travellers had already, without Mary planting any
+more; and I thought not one traveller in a dozen paid much attention
+to them--begging John Parkinson's pardon--and how much more in want of
+flowers people 'that have no garden' are; and then I thought of that
+poor girl in those bare barracks, whose old home was one of the
+prettiest places, with the loveliest garden, in all Berkshire."
+
+"Was it an Earthly Paradise?" asked Chris.
+
+"It was, indeed. Well, when I thought of her inside those brick walls,
+looking out on one of those yards they march about in, now they've cut
+down all the trees, and planted sentry boxes, I put my best bonnet out
+of the window, which always spoils the feather, and told Harness to
+turn his horses' heads, and drive home again."
+
+"What for?" said Chris, as brusquely as Lady Catherine.
+
+"I sent for Hobbs."
+
+"Hobbs the Gardener?" said Chris.
+
+"Hobbs the Gardener; and I told Chambers to give him the basket from
+the second peg, and then I sent him into the conservatory to fill it.
+Mary, my dear, I am very particular about my baskets. If ever I lend
+you my diamonds, and you lose them, I may forgive you--I shall know
+_that_ was an accident; but if I lend you a basket, and you don't
+return it, don't look me in the face again. I always write my name on
+them, so there's no excuse. And I don't know a greater piece of
+impudence--and people are wonderfully impudent now-a-days--than to
+think that because a thing only cost fourpence, you need not be at the
+trouble of keeping it clean and dry, and of sending it back."
+
+"Some more toast and water please," said Chris.
+
+Aunt Catherine helped him, and continued--"Hobbs is a careful man--he
+has been with me ten years--he doesn't cut flowers recklessly as a
+rule, but when I saw that basket I said, 'Hobbs, you've been very
+extravagant.' He looked ashamed of himself, but he said, 'I understood
+they was for Miss Kitty, m'm. She's been used to nice gardens, m'm.'
+Hobbs lived with them in Berkshire before he came to me."
+
+"It was very nice of Hobbs," said Chris, emphatically.
+
+"Humph!" said Aunt Catherine, "the flowers were mine."
+
+"Did you ever get to the barracks?" asked Chris, "and what was they
+like when you did?"
+
+"They were about as unlike Kitty's old home as anything could well be,
+She has made her rooms pretty enough, but it was easy to see she is
+hard up for flowers. She's got an old rose-colored Sevres bowl that
+was my Grandmother's, and there it was, filled with bramble leaves and
+Traveller's Joy, (which _she_ calls Old Man's Beard; Kitty always
+would differ from her elders!) and a soup-plate full of
+forget-me-nots. She said two of the children had half-drowned
+themselves, and lost a good straw hat in getting them for her. Just
+like their mother, as I told her."
+
+"What did she say when you brought out the basket?" asked Chris,
+disposing of his reserve of currants at one mouthful, and laying down
+his spoon.
+
+"She said, 'Oh! oh! oh!' till I told her to say something more
+amusing, and then she said, 'I could cry for joy!' and, 'Tell Hobbs he
+remembers all my favorites.'"
+
+Christopher here bent his head over his empty plate, and said grace
+(Chris is very particular about his grace), and then got down from his
+chair and went up to Lady Catherine, and threw his arms round her as
+far as they would go, saying, "You are good. And I love you. I should
+think she thinked you was a fairy godmother."
+
+After they had hugged each other, Aunt Catherine said, "Will you take
+me into the game, if I serve them that have no garden?"
+
+Chris and I said "Yes" with one voice.
+
+"Then come into the drawing-room," said Aunt Catherine, getting up and
+giving a hand to each of us. "And Chris shall give me a name."
+
+Chris pondered a long time on this subject, and seemed a good deal
+disturbed in his mind. Presently he said, "I _won't_ be selfish. You
+shall have it."
+
+"Shall have what, you oddity?"
+
+"I'm not an oddity, and I'm going to give you the name I invented for
+myself. But you'll have to wear four stockings, two up and two down."
+
+"Then you may keep _that_ name to yourself," said Aunt Catherine.
+
+Christopher looked relieved.
+
+"Perhaps you'd not like to be called Old Man's Beard?"
+
+"Certainly not!" said Aunt Catherine.
+
+"It _is_ more of a boy's name," said Chris. "You might be the
+Franticke or Foolish Cowslip, but it is Jack an Apes on Horseback too,
+and that's a boy's name. You shall be a Daffodil, not a dwarf
+daffodil, but a big one, because you are big. Wait a minute--I know
+which you shall be. You shall be Nonsuch. It's a very big one, and it
+means none like it. So you shall be Nonsuch, for there's no one like
+you."
+
+On which Christopher and Lady Catherine hugged each other afresh.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+"Who told most to-day?" asked Father when we got home.
+
+"Oh, Aunt Catherine. Much most," said Christopher.
+
+
+CHAPTER XI.
+
+
+The height of our game was in Autumn. It is such a good time for
+digging up, and planting, and dividing, and making cuttings, and
+gathering seeds, and sowing them too. But it went by very quickly,
+and when the leaves began to fall they fell very quickly, and Arthur
+never had to go up the trees and shake them.
+
+After the first hard frost we quite gave up playing at the Earthly
+Paradise; first, because there was nothing we could do, and, secondly,
+because a lot of snow fell, and Arthur had a grand idea of making snow
+statues all along the terrace, so that Mother could see them from the
+drawing-room windows. We worked very hard, and it was very difficult
+to manage legs without breaking; so we made most of them Romans in
+togas, and they looked very well from a distance, and lasted a long
+time, because the frost lasted.
+
+And, by degrees, I almost forgot that terrible afternoon in Mary's
+Meadow. Only when Saxon came to see us I told him that I was very glad
+that no one understood his bark, so that he could not let out what had
+become of the hose-in-hose.
+
+But when the winter was past, and the snowdrops came out in the
+shrubbery, and there were catkins on the nut trees, and the missel
+thrush we had been feeding in the frost sat out on mild days and sang
+to us, we all of us began to think of our gardens again, and to go
+poking about "with our noses in the borders," as Arthur said, "as if
+we were dogs snuffing after truffles." What we really were "snuffing
+after" were the plants we had planted in autumn, and which were poking
+and sprouting, and coming up in all directions.
+
+Arthur and Harry did real gardening in the Easter holidays, and they
+captured Adela now and then, and made her weed. But Christopher's
+delight was to go with me to the waste places and hedges, where I had
+planted things as Traveller's Joy, and to get me to show them to him
+where they had begun to make a spring start, and to help him to make
+up rambling stories, which he called "Supposings," of what the flowers
+would be like, and what this or that traveller would say when he saw
+them. One of his favorite _supposings_ was--"Supposing a very poor man
+was coming along the road, with his dinner in a handkerchief; and
+supposing he sat down under the hedge to eat it; and supposing it was
+cold beef, and he had no mustard; and supposing there was a seed on
+your nasturtium plants, and he knew it wouldn't poison him; and
+supposing he ate it with his beef, and it tasted nice and hot, like a
+pickle, wouldn't he wonder how it got there?"
+
+But when the primroses had been out a long time, and the cowslips were
+coming into bloom, to my horror Christopher began "supposing" that we
+should find hose-in-hose in some of the fields, and all my efforts to
+put this idea out of his head, and to divert him from the search, were
+utterly in vain.
+
+Whether it had anything to do with his having had water on the brain I
+do not know, but when once an idea got into Christopher's head there
+was no dislodging it. He now talked of hose-in-hose constantly. One
+day he announced that he was "discontented" once more, and should
+remain so till he had "found a hose-in-hose." I enticed him to a field
+where I knew it was possible to secure an occasional oxlip, but he
+only looked pale, shook his head distressingly, and said, "I don't
+think nothin' of Oxlips." Colored primroses would not comfort him. He
+professed to disbelieve in the time-honored prescription, "Plant a
+primrose upside down, and it will come up a polyanthus," and refused
+to help me to make the experiment. At last the worst came. He suddenly
+spoke, with smiles--"I _know_ where we'll find hose-in-hose! In Mary's
+Meadow. It's the fullest field of cowslips there is. Hurrah! Supposing
+we find hose-in-hose, and supposing we find green cowslips, and
+supposing we find curled cowslips or galligaskins, and supposing----"
+
+But I could not bear it. I fairly ran away from him, and shut myself
+up in my room and cried. I knew it was silly, and yet I could not bear
+the thought of having to satisfy everybody's curiosity, and describe
+that scene in Mary's Meadow, which had wounded me so bitterly, and
+explain why I had not told of it before.
+
+I cried, too, for another reason. Mary's Meadow had been dear to us
+all, ever since I could remember. It was always our favorite field. We
+had coaxed our nurses there, when we could induce them to leave the
+high road, or when, luckily for us, on account of an epidemic, or for
+some reason or another, they were forbidden to go gossiping into the
+town. We had "pretended" fairies in the nooks of the delightfully
+neglected hedges, and we had found fairy-rings to prove our
+pretendings true. We went there for flowers; we went there for
+mushrooms and puff-balls; we went there to hear the nightingale. What
+cowslip balls, and what cowslip tea-parties it had afforded us. It is
+fair to the Old Squire to say that we were sad trespassers, before he
+and Father quarrelled and went to law. For Mary's Meadow was a field
+with every quality to recommend it to childish affections.
+
+And now I was banished from it, not only by the quarrel, of which we
+had really not heard much, or realised it as fully, but by my own
+bitter memories. I cried afresh to think I should never go again to
+the corner where I always found the earliest violets; and then I cried
+to think that the nightingale would soon be back, and how that very
+morning, when I opened my window, I had heard the cuckoo, and could
+tell that he was calling from just about Mary's Meadow.
+
+I cried my eyes into such a state, that I was obliged to turn my
+attention to making them fit to be seen; and I had spent quite half an
+hour in bathing them and breathing on my handkerchief, and dabbing
+them, which is more soothing, when I heard Mother calling me. I
+winked hard, drew a few long breaths, rubbed my cheeks, which were so
+white they showed up my red eyes, and ran downstairs. Mother was
+coming to meet me. She said--"Where is Christopher?"
+
+It startled me. I said, "He was with me in the garden, about--oh,
+about an hour ago; have you lost him? I'll go and look for him."
+
+And I snatched up a garden hat, which shaded my swollen eyelids, and
+ran out. I could not find him anywhere, and becoming frightened, I ran
+down the drive, calling him as I went, and through the gate, and out
+into the road.
+
+A few yards farther on I met him.
+
+That child is most extraordinary. One minute he looks like a ghost; an
+hour later his face is beaming with a radiance that seems absolutely
+to fatten him under your eyes. That was how he looked just then as he
+came towards me, smiling in an effulgent sort of way, as if he were
+the noonday sun--no less, and carrying a small nosegay in his hand.
+
+When he came within hearing he boasted, as if he had been Caesar
+himself.
+
+"I went; I found it. I've got them."
+
+And as he held his hand up, and waved the nosegay--I knew all. He had
+been to Mary's Meadow, and the flowers between his fingers were
+hose-in-hose.
+
+
+CHAPTER XII
+
+
+"I won't be selfish, Mary," Christopher said. "You invented the game,
+and you told me about them. You shall have them in water on your
+dressing-table; they might get lost in the nursery. Bessy is always
+throwing things out. To-morrow I shall go and look for galligaskins."
+
+I was too glad to keep them from Bessy's observation, as well as her
+unparalleled powers of destruction, which I knew well. I put them into
+a slim glass on my table, and looked stupidly at them, and then out of
+the window at Mary's Meadow.
+
+So they had lived--and grown--and settled there--and were now in
+bloom. _My_ plants.
+
+Next morning I was sitting, drawing, in the school-room window, when I
+saw the Old Squire coming up the drive. There is no mistaking him when
+you can see him at all. He is a big, handsome old man, with white
+whiskers, and a white hat, and white gaiters, and he generally wears a
+light coat, and a flower in his button-hole. The flower he wore this
+morning looked like----, but I was angry with myself for thinking of
+it, and went on drawing again, as well as I could, for I could not
+help wondering why he was coming to our house. Then it struck me he
+might have seen Chris trespassing, and he might be coming at last to
+lay a formal complaint.
+
+Twenty minutes later James came to tell me that Father wished to see
+me in the library, and when I got there, Father was just settling his
+eye-glass in his eye, and the Old Squire was standing on the
+hearth-rug, with a big piece of paper in his hand. And then I saw that
+I was right, and that the flowers in his button-hole were
+hose-in-hose.
+
+As I came in he laid down the paper, took the hose-in-hose out of his
+button-hole in his left hand, and held out his right hand to me,
+saying: "I'm more accustomed to public speaking than to private
+speaking, Miss Mary. But----will you be friends with me?"
+
+In Mary's Meadow my head had got all confused, because I was
+frightened. I was not frightened to-day, and I saw the whole matter in
+a moment. He had found the double cowslips, and he knew now that I was
+neither a liar nor a thief. I was glad, but I could not feel very
+friendly to him. I said, "You can speak when you are angry."
+
+Though he was behind me, I could feel Father coming nearer, and I knew
+somehow that he had taken out his glass again to rub it and put it
+back, as he does when he is rather surprised or amused. I was afraid
+he meant to laugh at me afterwards, and he can tease terribly, but I
+could not have helped saying what came into my head that morning if I
+had tried. When you have suffered a great deal about anything, you
+cannot sham, not even politeness.
+
+The Old Squire got rather red. Then he said, "I am afraid I am very
+hasty, my dear, and say very unjustifiable things. But I am very
+sorry, and I beg your pardon. Will you forgive me?"
+
+I said, "Of course, if you're sorry, I forgive you, but you have been
+a very long time in repenting."
+
+Which was true. If I had been cross with one of the others, and had
+borne malice for five months, I should have thought myself very
+wicked. But when I had said it, I felt sorry, for the old gentleman
+made no answer. Father did not speak either, and I began to feel very
+miserable. I touched the flowers, and the Old Squire gave them to me
+in silence. I thanked him very much, and then I said--
+
+"I am very glad you know about it now.... I'm very glad they lived....
+I hope you like them? ... I hope, if you do like them, that they'll
+grow and spread all over your field."
+
+The Old Squire spoke at last. He said, "It is not my field any
+longer."
+
+I said, "Oh, why?"
+
+"I have given it away; I have been a long time in repenting, but when
+I did repent I punished myself. I have given it away."
+
+It overwhelmed me, and when he took up the big paper again, I thought
+he was going, and I tried to stop him, for I was sorry I had spoken
+unkindly to him, and I wanted to be friends.
+
+"Please don't go," I said. "Please stop and be friends. And oh,
+please, please don't give Mary's Meadow away. You mustn't punish
+yourself. There's nothing to punish yourself for. I forgive you with
+all my heart, and I'm sorry I spoke crossly. I have been so very
+miserable, and I was so vexed at wasting the hose-in-hose, because
+Bessie's great aunt gave them to me, and I've none left. Oh, the
+unkindest thing you could do to me now would be to give away Mary's
+Meadow."
+
+The Old Squire had taken both my hands in his, and now he asked very
+kindly--"Why, my dear, why don't you want me to give away Mary's
+Meadow?"
+
+"Because we are so fond of it. And because I was beginning to hope
+that now we're friends, and you know we don't want to steal your
+things, or to hurt your field, perhaps you would let us play in it
+sometimes, and perhaps have Saxon to play with us there. We are so
+very fond of him too."
+
+"You are fond of Mary's Meadow?" said the Old Squire.
+
+"Yes, yes! We have been fond of it all our lives. We don't think there
+is any field like it, and I don't believe there can be. Don't give it
+away. You'll never get one with such flowers in it again. And now
+there are hose-in-hose, and they are not at all common. Bessy's aunt's
+aunt has only got one left, and she's taking care of it with a shovel.
+And if you'll let us in we'll plant a lot of things, and do no harm,
+we will indeed. And the nightingale will be here directly. Oh, don't
+give it away!"
+
+My head was whirling now with the difficulty of persuading him, and I
+did not hear what he said across me to my father. But I heard Father's
+reply--"Tell her yourself, sir."
+
+On which the Old Squire stuffed the big paper into my arms, and put
+his hand on my head and patted it.
+
+"I told you I was a bad hand at talking, my dear," he said, "but
+Mary's Meadow is given away, and that's the Deed of Gift which you've
+got in your arms, drawn up as tight as any rascal of a lawyer can do
+it, and that's not so tight, I believe, but what some other rascal of
+a lawyer could undo it. However, they may let you alone. For I've
+given it to you, my dear, and it is yours. So you can plant, and play,
+and do what you please there. 'You, and your heirs and assigns, for
+ever,' as the rascals say."
+
+It was my turn now to be speechless. But as I stared blankly in front
+of me, I saw that Father had come round, and was looking at me through
+his eye-glass. He nodded to me, and said, "Yes, Mary, the Squire has
+given Mary's Meadow to you, and it is yours."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Nothing would induce the Old Squire to take it back, so I had to have
+it, for my very own. He said he had always been sorry he had spoken so
+roughly to me, but he could not say so, as he and Father were not on
+speaking terms. Just lately he was dining with Lady Catherine, to meet
+her cousins from the Barracks, and she was telling people after dinner
+about our game (rather mean of her, I think, to let out our secrets at
+a dinner party), and when he heard about my planting things in the
+hedges, he remembered what I had said. And next day he went to the
+place to look, and there were the hose-in-hose.
+
+Oh, how delighted the others were when they heard that Mary's Meadow
+belonged to me.
+
+"It's like having an Earthly Paradise given to you, straight off!"
+said Harry.
+
+"And one that doesn't want weeding," said Adela.
+
+"And oh, Mary, Mary!" cried Arthur. "Think of the yards and yards of
+top-spit. It does rejoice me to think I can go to you now when I'm making
+compost, and need not be beholden to that old sell-up-your-grandfather John
+for as much as would fill Adela's weeding basket, and that's about as small
+an article as anyone can make-believe with."
+
+"It's very heavy when it's full," said Adela.
+
+"Is everything hers?" asked Christopher. "Is the grass hers, and the
+trees hers, and the hedges hers, and the rooks hers, and the starling
+hers, and will the nightingale be hers when he comes home, and if she
+could dig through to the other side of the world, would there be a
+field the same size in Australia that would be hers, and are the sheep
+hers, and----"
+
+"For mercy's sake stop that catalogue, Chris," said Father. "Of course
+the sheep are not hers; they were moved yesterday. By-the-bye, Mary, I
+don't know what you propose to do with your property, but if you like
+to let it to me, I'll turn some sheep in to-morrow, and I'll pay you
+so much a year, which I advise you to put in the Post Office Savings'
+Bank."
+
+I couldn't fancy Mary's Meadow always without sheep, so I was too
+thankful; though at first I could not see that it was fair that dear
+Father should let me have his sheep to look pretty in my field for
+nothing, and pay me, too. He is always teasing me about my field, and
+he teases me a good deal about the Squire, too. He says we have set up
+another queer friendship in the family, and that the Old Squire and I
+are as odd a pair as Aunt Catherine and Chris.
+
+I am very fond of the Old Squire now, and he is very kind to me. He
+wants to give me Saxon, but I will not accept him. It would be
+selfish. But the Old Squire says I had better take him, for we have
+quite spoilt him for a yard dog by petting him, till he has not a bit
+of savageness left in him. We do not believe Saxon ever was savage;
+but I daren't say so to the Old Squire, for he does not like you to
+think you know better than he does about anything. There is one other
+subject on which he expects to be humored, and I am careful not to
+offend him. He cannot tolerate the idea that he might be supposed to
+have yielded to Father the point about which they went to law, in
+giving Mary's Meadow to me. He is always lecturing me on
+encroachments, and the abuse of privileges, and warning me to be very
+strict about trespassers on the path through Mary's Meadow; and now
+that the field is mine, nothing will induce him to walk in it without
+asking my leave. That is his protest against the decision from which
+he meant to appeal.
+
+Though I have not accepted Saxon, he spends most of his time with us.
+He likes to come for the night, because he sleeps on the floor of my
+room, instead of in a kennel, which must be horrid, I am sure.
+Yesterday, the Old Squire said, "One of these fine days, when Master
+Saxon does not come home till morning, he'll find a big mastiff in his
+kennel, and will have to seek a home for himself where he can."
+
+Chris has been rather whimsical lately. Father says Lady Catherine
+spoils him. One day he came to me looking very peevish, and said,
+"Mary, if a hedgehog should come and live in one of your hedges,
+Michael says he would be yours, he's sure. If Michael finds him, will
+you give him to me?"
+
+"Yes, Chris; but what do you want with a hedgehog?"
+
+"I want him to sleep by my bed," said Chris. "You have Saxon by your
+bed; I want something by mine. I want a hedgehog. I feel discontented
+without a hedgehog. I think I might have some thing the matter with my
+brain if I didn't get a hedgehog pretty soon. Can I go with Michael
+and look for him this afternoon?" and he put his hand to his forehead.
+
+"Chris, Chris!" I said, "you should not be so sly. You're a real
+slyboots. Double-stockings and slyboots." And I took him on my lap.
+
+Chris put his arms round my neck, and buried his cheek against mine.
+
+"I won't be sly, Mary," he whispered; and then, hugging me as he hugs
+Lady Catherine, he added, "For I do love you; for you are a darling,
+and I do really think it always was yours."
+
+"What, Chris?"
+
+"If not," said Chris, "why was it always called MARY'S MEADOW?"
+
+     NOTE.--If any readers of "Mary's Meadow" have been as completely
+     puzzled as the writer was by the title of John Parkinson's old
+     book, it may interest them to know that the question has been
+     raised and answered in _Notes and Queries_.
+
+     I first saw the _Paradisi in sole Paradisus terrestris_ at Kew,
+     some years ago, and was much bewitched by its quaint charm. I
+     grieve to say that I do not possess it; but an old friend and
+     florist--the Rev. H. T. Ellacombe--was good enough to lend me his
+     copy for reference, and to him I wrote for the meaning of the
+     title. But his scholarship, and that of other learned friends,
+     was quite at fault. My old friend's youthful energies (he will
+     permit me to say that he is ninety-four) were not satisfied to
+     rust in ignorance, and he wrote to _Notes and Queries_ on the
+     subject, and has been twice answered. It is an absurd play upon
+     words, after the fashion of John Parkinson's day. Paradise, as
+     AUNT-JUDY'S readers may know, is originally an Eastern word,
+     meaning a park, or pleasure ground. I am ashamed to say that the
+     knowledge of this fact did not help me to the pun. _Paradisi in
+     sole Paradisus terrestris_ means Park--in--son's Earthly
+     Paradise!
+
+J. H. E., _February_, 1884.
+
+
+
+
+LETTERS FROM A LITTLE GARDEN.
+
+LETTER I.
+
+"All is fine that is fit."--_Old Proverb._
+
+
+DEAR LITTLE FRIEND,
+
+When, with the touching confidence of youth that your elders have
+made-up as well as grown-up minds on all subjects, you asked my
+opinion on _Ribbon-gardening_, the above proverb came into my head, to
+the relief of its natural tendency to see an inconvenient number of
+sides to every question. The more I reflect upon it, the more I am
+convinced it is a comfortably compact confession of my faith on all
+matters decorative, and thence on the decoration of gardens.
+
+I take some credit to myself for having the courage of my moderation,
+since you obviously expect a more sweeping reply. The bedding-out
+system is in bad odor just now; and you ask, "Wasn't it hideous?" and
+"Wasn't it hateful?" and "Will it ever come into fashion again, to the
+re-extermination of the dear old-fashioned flowers which we are now
+slowly, and with pains, recalling from banishment?"
+
+To discover one's own deliberate opinion upon a subject is not always
+easy--prophetic opinions one must refuse to offer. But I feel no doubt
+whatever that the good lady who shall coddle this little garden at
+some distant date after me will be quite as fond of her borders as I
+am of mine; and I suspect that these will be about as like each other
+as our respective best bonnets.
+
+The annals of Fashion must always be full of funny stories. I know two
+of the best amateur gardeners of the day; they are father and son. The
+father, living _and gardening_ still (he sent me a specimen lily
+lately by parcel post, and is beholden to no one for help, either with
+packing or addressing, in his constant use of this new convenience),
+is making good way between ninety and a hundred years of age. What we
+call old-fashioned flowers were the pets of his youth. About the time
+when ribbon-bordering "came in," he changed his residence, and, in the
+garden where he had cultivated countless kinds of perennials, his son
+reigned in his stead. The horticultural taste proved hereditary, but
+in the younger man it took the impress of the fashion of his day. Away
+went the "herbaceous stuff" on to rubbish heaps, and the borders were
+soon gay with geraniums, and kaleidoscopic with calceolarias. But "the
+whirligig of Time brings in his revenges," and, perhaps, a real love
+for flowers could never, in the nature of things, have been finally
+satisfied by the dozen or by the score; so it came to pass that the
+garden is once more herbaceous, and far-famed as such. The father--a
+_perennial_ gardener in more senses than one, long may he
+flourish!--has told me, chuckling, of many a penitential pilgrimage to
+the rubbish-heaps, if haply fragments could be found of the herbaceous
+treasures which had been so rashly cast away.
+
+Doubtless there were many restorations. Abandoned "bedding stuff" soon
+perishes, but uprooted clumps of "herbaceous stuff" linger long in
+shady corners, and will sometimes flower pathetically on the heap
+where they have been thrown to rot.
+
+I once saw a fine "Queen Anne" country house--an old one; not a modern
+imitation. Chippendale had made the furniture. He had worked in the
+house. Whether the chairs and tables were beautiful or not is a matter
+of taste, but they were well made and seasoned; so, like the
+herbaceous stuff, they were hardy. The next generation decided that
+they were ugly. New chairs and tables were bought, and the Chippendale
+"stuff" was sent up into the maids' bedrooms, and down to the men's.
+It drifted into the farmhouses and cottages on the estate. No doubt, a
+good deal was destroyed. The caprices of fashion are not confined to
+one class, and the lower classes are the more prodigal and
+destructive. I have seen the remains of Elizabethan bedsteads under
+hayricks, and untold "old oak" has fed the cottage fire. I once asked
+a village maiden why the people made firewood of carved armchairs,
+when painted pinewood, upholstered in American cloth, is, if lovelier,
+not so lasting. Her reply was--"They get stalled on[3] 'em." And she
+added: "Maybe a man 'll look at an old arm chair that's stood on t'
+hearth-place as long as he can remember, and he'll say--'I'm fair sick
+o' t' seet o' _yon_. We mun have a new 'un for t' Feast. _I'l chop
+thee oop!_'"
+
+[Footnote 3: "Stalled on"--tired of. "T' feast"--the village feast, an
+annual festival and fair, for which most houses in that district are
+cleaned within and whitewashed without.]
+
+Possibly some of the Chippendale chairs also fell to the hatchet and
+fed the flames, but most of them bore neglect as well as hardy
+perennials, and when Queen Anne houses and "Old Chips" came into
+fashion again, there was routing and rummaging from attic to cellar,
+in farmhouse and cottage, and the banished furniture went triumphantly
+back to its own place.
+
+I first saw single dahlias in some "little gardens" in Cheshire, five
+or six years ago. No others had ever been cultivated there. In these
+quiet nooks the double dahlia was still a new-fangled flower. If the
+single dahlias yet hold their own, those little gardens must now find
+themselves in the height of the floral fashion, with the unusual luck
+of the conservative old woman who "wore her bonnet till the fashions
+came round again."
+
+It is such little gardens which have kept for us the Blue Primrose, the
+highly fragrant Summer Roses (including Rose de Meaux, and the red and
+copper Briar), countless beautiful varieties of Daffy-down-dillies, and
+all the host of sweet, various and hardy flowers which are now
+returning, like the Chippendale chairs, from the village to the hall.
+
+It is still in cottage gardens chiefly that the Crown Imperial hangs
+its royal head. One may buy small sheaves of it in the Taunton
+market-place on early summer Saturdays. What a stately flower it is!
+and, in the paler variety of what an exquisite yellow! I always fancy
+_Fritillaria Imperialis flava_ to be dressed in silk from the Flowery
+Land--that robe of imperial yellow which only General Gordon and the
+blood royal of China are entitled to wear!
+
+"All is fine that is fit." And is the "bedding-out"
+system--Ribbon-gardening--ever fit, and therefore ever fine? My little
+friend, I am inclined to think that it sometimes is. For long straight
+borders in parks and public promenades, for some terrace gardens on a
+large scale, viewed perhaps from windows at a considerable distance,
+and in a general way for pleasure grounds, ordered by professional
+skill, and not by an _amateur_ gardener (which, mark you, being
+interpreted, is gardener _for love!_), the bedding-out style is good
+for general effect, and I think it is capable of prettier ingenuities
+than one often sees employed in its use. I think that, if I ever
+gardened in this expensive and mechanical style, I should make
+"arrangements," a la Whistler, with flowers of various shades of the
+same color. But harmony and gradation of color always give me more
+pleasure than contrast.
+
+Then, besides the fitness of the gardening to the garden, there is the
+fitness of the garden to its owner; and the owner must be considered
+from two points of view, his taste and his means. Indeed, I think it
+would be fair to add a third, his leisure.
+
+Now, there are owners of big gardens and little gardens, who like to
+have a garden (what Englishman does not?) and like to see it gay and
+tidy, but who don't know one flower from the rest. On the other hand,
+some scientists are acquainted with botany and learned in
+horticulture. They know every plant and its value, but they care
+little about tidiness. Cut flowers are feminine frivolities in their
+eyes, and they count nosegays as childish gauds, like daisy chains and
+cowslip balls. They are not curious in colors, and do not know which
+flowers are fragrant and which are scentless. For them every garden is
+a botanical garden. Then, many persons fully appreciate the beauty and
+the scent of flowers, and enjoy selecting and arranging them for a
+room, who can't abide to handle a fork or meddle with mother earth.
+
+Others again, amongst whom I number myself, love not only the lore of
+flowers, and the sight of them, and the fragrance of them, and the
+growing of them, and the picking of them, and the arranging of them,
+but also inherit from Father Adam a natural relish for tilling the
+ground from whence they were taken and to which they shall return.
+
+With little persons in little gardens, having also little strength and
+little leisure, this husbandry may not exceed the small uses of fork
+and trowel, but the earth-love is there, all the same. I remember
+once, coming among some family papers, upon an old letter from my
+grandmother to my grandfather. She was a clever girl (she did not
+outlive her youth), and the letter was natural and full of energy and
+point. My grandfather seems to have apologized to his bride for the
+disorderly state of the garden to which she was about to go home, and
+in reply she quaintly and vehemently congratulates herself upon this
+unpromising fact. For----"I do so dearly love _grubbing_." This
+touches another point. She was a botanist, and painted a little. So
+were most of the lady gardeners of her youth. The education of women
+was, as a rule, poor enough in those days; but a study of "the Linnean
+system" was among the elegant accomplishments held to "become a young
+woman;" and one may feel pretty sure that even a smattering of
+botanical knowledge, and the observation needed for third or
+fourth-rate flower-painting, would tend to a love of variety in beds
+and borders which Ribbon-gardening would by no means satisfy. _Lobelia
+erinus speciosa_ does make a wonderfully smooth blue stripe in
+sufficient quantities, but that would not console any one who knew or
+had painted _Lobelia cardinalis_, and _fulgens_ for the banishment of
+these from the garden.
+
+I think we may dismiss Ribbon-gardening as unfit for a botanist, or
+for any one who happens to like _grubbing_, or tending his flowers.
+
+Is it ever "fit" in a little garden?
+
+Well, if the owner has either no taste for gardening, or no time, it
+may be the shortest and brightest plan to get some nurseryman near to
+fill the little beds and borders with spring bedding plants for spring
+(and let me note that this _spring bedding_, which is of later date
+than the first rage for ribbon-borders, had to draw its supplies very
+largely from "herbaceous stuff" _myosotis_, _viola_, _aubretia_,
+_iberis_, &c., and may have paved the way for the return of hardy
+perennials into favor), and with Tom Thumb Geranium, Blue Lobelia, and
+Yellow Calceolaria for the summer and autumn. These latter are most
+charming plants. They are very gay and persistent whilst they last,
+and it is not their fault that they cannot stand our winters. They are
+no invalids till frost comes. With my personal predilections, I like
+even "bedding stuff" best in variety. The varieties of what we call
+geraniums are many and most beautiful. I should always prefer a group
+of individual specimens to a band of one. And never have I seen the
+canary yellow of calceolarias to such advantage as in an
+"old-fashioned" rectory-garden in Yorkshire, where they were cunningly
+used as points of brilliancy at corners of beds mostly filled with
+"hardy herbaceous stuff."
+
+But there, again, one begins to spend time and taste! Let us admit
+that, if a little garden must be made gay by the neighboring
+nurseryman, it will look very bright, on the "ribbon" system, at a
+minimum cost of time and trouble--_but not of money!_
+
+Even for a little garden, bedding plants are very expensive. For you
+must either use plenty, or leave it alone. A ragged ribbon-border can
+have no admirers.
+
+If time and money are both lacking, and horticulture is not a hobby,
+divide what sum you are prepared to spend on your little garden in
+two. Lay out half in making good soil, and spend the rest on a limited
+range of hardy plants. If mother earth is well fed, and if you have
+got her _deep down_, and not a surface layer of half a foot on a
+substratum of builder's rubbish, she will take care of every plant you
+commit to her hold. I should give up the back of the borders (if the
+aspect is east or south) to a few very good "perpetual" roses to cut
+from; dwarfs, not standards; and for the line of color in front it
+will be no great trouble to arrange roughly to have red, white, blue,
+and yellow alternately.
+
+One of the best cheap bedders is Pink Catchfly (_Silene pendula_). Its
+rosy cushions are as neat and as lasting as Blue Lobelia. It is a
+hardy annual, but the plants should be autumn sown of the year before.
+It flowers early and long, and its place might be taken for the autumn
+by scarlet dwarf nasturtiums, or clumps of geranium. Pink Catchfly,
+Blue Forget-me-not, White Arabis, and Yellow Viola would make gay any
+spring border. Then to show, to last, and to cut from, few flowers
+rival the self-colored pansies (Viola class). Blue, white, purple, and
+yellow alternately, they are charming, and if in good soil,
+well-watered in drought, and constantly cut from, they bloom the whole
+summer long. And some of them are very fragrant. The secret of success
+with these is never to leave a flower to go to seed. They are not cut
+off by autumnal frosts. On the contrary, you can take them up, and
+divide, and reset, and send a portion to other little gardens where
+they are lacking.
+
+All mine (and they have been very gay this year and very sweet) I owe
+to the bounty of friends who garden _non sibi sed toti_.
+
+Lastly, if there is even a very little taste and time to spare,
+surely nothing can be so satisfactory as a garden full of such flowers
+as (in the words of John Parkinson) "our English ayre will permitt to
+be noursed up." Bearing in mind these counsels:
+
+Make a wise selection of hardy plants. Grow only good sorts, and of
+these choose what suit your soil and climate. Give them space and good
+feeding. Disturb the roots as little as possible, and cut the flowers
+constantly. Then they will be fine as well as fit.
+
+Good-bye, Little Friend,
+
+Yours, &c.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+LETTER II.
+
+     "The tropics may have their delights; but they have not turf, and
+     the world without turf is a dreary desert. The original Garden of
+     Eden could not have had such turf as one sees in England.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+     "Woman always did, from the first, make a muss in a garden.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+     "Nevertheless, what a man needs in gardening is a cast-iron back,
+     with a hinge in it."
+
+     --_Pusley; or, My Summer in a Garden_.--C. D. WARNER.
+
+
+DEAR LITTLE FRIEND,
+
+Do you know the little book from which these sayings are quoted? It is
+one you can laugh over by yourself, again and again. A very good
+specimen of that curious, new-world kind of wit--American humor; and
+also full of the truest sense of natural beauty and of gardening
+delights.
+
+Mr. Warner is not complimentary to woman's work in the garden, though
+he displays all the graceful deference of his countrymen to the weaker
+sex. In the charming dedication to his wife, whilst desiring "to
+acknowledge an influence which has lent half the charm to my labor,"
+he adds: "If I were in a court of justice, or injustice, under oath, I
+should not like to say that, either in the wooing days of spring, or
+under the suns of the summer solstice, you had been, either with hoe,
+rake, or miniature spade, of the least use in the garden." Perhaps our
+fair cousins on the other side of the Atlantic do not _grub_ so
+energetically as we do. Certainly, with us it is very common for the
+ladies of the family to be the practical gardeners, the master of the
+house caring chiefly for a good general effect, with tidy walks and
+grassplots, and displaying less of that almost maternal solicitude
+which does bring flowers to perfection.
+
+I have sometimes thought that it would be a good division of labor in
+a Little Garden, if, where Joan coddles the roses and rears the
+seedlings, Darby would devote some of his leisure to the walks and
+grassplots.
+
+Few things in one's garden are pleasanter to one's own eye, or gain
+more admiration from others, than well-kept turf. Green grass is one
+of the charms of the British Isles, which are emerald isles
+throughout, though Ireland is so _par excellence_. It is so much a
+matter of course to us that we hardly realize this till we hear or
+read what foreigners say about it, and also our own American and
+colonial cousins. We go abroad and revel in real sunshine, and come
+home with glowing memories to abuse our own cloudy skies; but they
+come from burnt-up landscapes to refresh their eyes with our perpetual
+green.
+
+Even a little grassplot well repays pains and care. If you have to
+make it, never use cheap seed. Buy the very best from seedsmen of
+repute, or you will get a conglomeration of weeds instead of a
+green-sward of fine grasses and white clover. Trench the ground to an
+_even_ depth, tread it firm, and have light, finely-sifted soil
+uppermost. Sow thickly early in April, cover lightly, and protect from
+birds. If the soil is good, and the seed first-rate, your sward will
+be green the first season.
+
+Turfs make a lawn somewhat quicker than seed. The best are cut from
+the road-side, but it is a hateful despoiling of one of the fairest of
+travellers' joys. Those who commit this highway robbery should reckon
+themselves in honor bound to sow the bare places they leave behind.
+Some people cut the pieces eighteen inches square, some about a yard
+long and twelve inches wide. Cut thin, roll up like thin bread and
+butter. When they are laid down, fit close together, like bits of a
+puzzle, and roll well after laying. If they gape with shrinking, fill
+in between with finely sifted soil, and roll again and again.
+
+Strictly speaking, a grassplot should be all grass, grass and a little
+white clover. "Soldiers" (of the plaintain type) are not to be
+tolerated on a lawn, but I have a weak corner for dog-daisies. I once
+owned a little garden in Canada, but never a dog-daisy grew there. A
+lady I knew had one--in a pot--sent from "Home." But even if you have
+a sentimental fondness for "the pretty things" (as their botanical
+name signifies), and like to see their little white faces peeping out
+of the grass, this must not be carried too far. In some soils
+dog-daisies will soon devour the whole lawn.
+
+How are they, and "soldiers," and other weeds to be extirpated? There
+are many nostrums, but none so effectual as a patient digging up (with
+a long "daisy fork") of plant after plant _by the roots_. The whole
+family party and any chance visitors will not be too many for the
+work, and, if each laborer is provided with a cast-iron back with a
+hinge in it, so much the better. A writer in the _Garden_ seems to
+have been very successful with salt, used early in the season and with
+great care. He says: "After the first cutting in the spring put as
+much salt on each weed, through the palm of the hand, as will
+distinctly cover it. In two or three days, depending on the weather,
+they will turn brown. Those weeds that have escaped can be distinctly
+seen, and the operation should be repeated. The weeds thus treated
+die, and in about three weeks the grass will have grown, and there
+will not be a vestige of disturbance left. Two years ago I converted a
+rough pasture into a tennis-ground for six courts. Naturally the turf
+was a mass of rough weeds. It took three days to salt them, and the
+result was curiously successful."
+
+Another prescription is to cut off the crowns of the offending plants,
+and dose them with a few drops of carbolic acid.
+
+Grass will only grow dense by constant cutting and moisture. The
+scythe works best when the grass is wet, and the machine when it is
+dry. Sweep it and roll it during the winter. Pick off stones, sticks,
+or anything that "has no business" on it, as you would pick "bits" off
+a carpet.
+
+If grass grows rank and coarse, a dressing of sand will improve it; if
+it is poor and easily burned up, give it a sprinkling of soot, or
+guano, or wood ashes (or all three mixed) before rain. "Slops" are as
+welcome to parched grass as to half-starved flowers. If the weather is
+hot and the soil light, it is well occasionally to leave the short
+clippings of one mowing upon the lawn to protect the roots.
+
+I do not know if it becomes unmanageable, but, in moderation, I think
+chamomile a very charming intruder on a lawn, and the aromatic scent
+which it yields to one's tread to be very grateful in the open air. It
+is pleasant, too, to have a knoll or a bank somewhere, where thyme can
+grow among the grass. But the subject of flowers that grow well
+through grass is a large one. It is one also on which the members of
+our Parkinson Society would do kindly to give us any exceptional
+experiences, especially in reference to flowers which not only
+flourish among grass, but do not resent being mown down. The lovely
+blue windflower (_Anemone Apennina_), is, I believe, one of these.
+
+There is no doubt that now and then plants prefer to meet with a
+little resistance, and despise a bed that is made too comfortable.
+Self-sown ones often come up much more vigorously through the hard
+path than when the seed has fallen within the border. The way to grow
+the parsley fern is said to be to clap a good big stone on his crown
+very early in the spring, and let him struggle out at all corners from
+underneath it. It is undoubtedly a comfort to rock-plants and creeping
+things to be planted with a stone over their feet to keep them cool!
+
+Which reminds me of stones for bordering. I think they make the best
+of all edgings for a Little Garden. Box-edgings are the prettiest, but
+they are expensive, require good keeping, and harbor slugs. For that
+matter, most things seem to harbor slugs in any but a very dry
+climate, and there are even more prescriptions for their destruction
+than that of lawn weeds. I don't think lime does much, nor soot. Wet
+soon slakes them. Thick slices of turnip are attractive. Slugs really
+do seem to like them, even better than one's favorite seedlings.
+Little heaps of bran also, and young lettuces. My slugs do not care
+for cabbage leaves, and they are very untidy. Put thick slices of
+turnip near your auriculas, favorite primroses and polyanthuses, and
+Christmas roses, and near anything tender and not well established,
+and overhaul them early in the morning. "You can't get up too early,
+if you have a garden," says Mr. Warner; and he adds: "Things appear to
+go on in the night in the garden uncommonly. It would be less trouble
+to stay up than it is to get up so early!"
+
+To return to stone edgings. When quite newly laid, like miniature
+rockwork, they are, perhaps, the least bit cockneyfied, and suggestive
+of something between oyster-shell borderings and mock ruins. But this
+effect very rapidly disappears as they bury themselves in cushions of
+pink catch-fly (v. _compacta_), or low-growing pinks, tiny campanulas,
+yellow viola, London pride, and the vast variety of rock-plants,
+"alpines," and low-growing "herbaceous stuff," which delight in
+squeezing up to a big cool stone that will keep a little moisture for
+their rootlets in hot summer weather. This is a much more interesting
+kind of edging than any one kind of plant can make, I think, and in a
+Little Garden it is like an additional border, leaving the other free
+for bigger plants. If one kind is preferred, for a light soil there is
+nothing like thrift. And the white thrift is very silvery and more
+beautiful than the pink. There is a large thrift, too, which is
+handsome. But I prefer stones, and I like varieties of color--bits of
+gray boulder, and red and yellow sandstone.
+
+I like warm color also on the walks. I should always have red walks if
+I could afford them. There is a red material, the result of some
+process of burning, which we used to get in the iron and coal
+districts of Yorkshire, which I used to think very pretty, but I do
+not know what it is called.
+
+Good walks are a great luxury. It is a wise economy to go round your
+walks after rain and look for little puddles; make a note of where the
+water lodges and fill it up. Keep gratings swept. If the grating is
+free and there is an overflow not to be accounted for, it is very
+possible that a drain-pipe somewhere is choke-full of the roots of
+some tree.
+
+Some people advise hacking up your walks from time to time, and other
+people advise you not. Some people say there is nothing like salt to
+destroy walk weeds and moss, and brighten the gravel, and some people
+say that salt in the long run feeds the ground and the weeds. I am
+disposed to think that, in a Little Garden, there is nothing like a
+weeding woman with an old knife and a little salt afterwards. It is
+also advisable to be your own weeding woman, that you may be sure that
+the weeds come up by the roots! Next to the cast-iron back before
+mentioned, I recommend a housemaid's kneeling mat (such as is used for
+scrubbing floors), as a gardener's comfort.
+
+I hope, if you have been bulb planting, that you got them all in by
+Lord Mayor's Day. Whether bulbs should be planted deep or shallow is
+another "vexed question." In a Little Garden, where you don't want to
+disturb them, and may like to plant out some small rooted annuals on
+the top of them later on, I should plant deep.
+
+If you are planting roses, remember that two or three, carefully
+planted in good stuff that goes deep, will pay you better than six
+times the number stuck _into a hole_ in cold clay or sand or builders'
+rubbish, and left to push their rootlets as best they can, or perish
+in the attempt. Spread out these rootlets very tenderly when planting.
+You will reap the reward of your gentleness in flowers. Rose roots
+don't like being squeezed, like a Chinese lady's feet. I was taught
+this by one who knows,--He has a good name for the briar suckers and
+sprouts which I hope you carefully cut off from your grafted
+roses,--He calls it "the old Adam!"
+
+Yours, &c.
+
+
+LETTER III.
+
+    A good rule
+    Is a good tool.
+
+
+DEAR LITTLE FRIEND,
+
+January is not a month in which you are likely to be doing much in
+your little garden. Possibly a wet blanket of snow lies thick and
+white over all its hopes and anxieties. No doubt you made all tidy,
+and some things warm, for the winter, in the delicious opportunities
+of S. Luke's and S. Martin's little summers, and, like the amusing
+American I told you of, "turned away writing _resurgam_ on the
+gate-post."
+
+I write _resurgam_ on labels, and put them wherever bulbs lie buried,
+or such herbaceous treasures as die down, and are, in consequence, too
+often treated as mere mortal remains of the departed, by the
+undiscriminating hand of the jobbing gardener.
+
+Winter is a good time to make plans, and to put them down in your
+Garden-book. Have you a Garden-book? A note-book, I mean, devoted to
+garden memoranda. It is a very useful kind of commonplace book, and
+soon becomes as fascinating as autumn and spring catalogues.
+
+One has to learn to manage even a Little Garden chiefly by experience,
+which is slow teaching, if sure. Books and gardeners are helpful; but,
+like other doctors, they differ. I think one is often slower to learn
+anything than one need be, from not making at once for first
+principles. If one knew more of these, it would be easier to apply
+one's own experience, and to decide amid conflicting advice.
+
+Here are a few rough and ready "first principles" for you.
+
+_Hardy flowers in hedges and ditches are partly fed, and are also
+covered from cold and heat, and winds, and drought, by fallen leaves
+and refuse. Hardy flowers in gardens have all this tidied away from
+them, and, being left somewhat hungry and naked in proportion, are all
+the better for an occasional top-dressing and mulching, especially in
+autumn._ It is not absolutely necessary to turn a flower border upside
+down and dig it over every year. It may (for some years at any rate),
+if you find this more convenient, be treated on the hedge system, and
+_fed from the top_; thinning big clumps, pulling up weeds, moving and
+removing in detail.
+
+_Concentrated strength means large blooms._ If a plant is ripening
+seed, some strength goes to that; if bursting into many blooms, some
+goes to each of them; if it is trying to hold up against blustering
+winds, or to thrive on exhausted ground, or to straighten out cramped
+and clogged roots, these struggles also demand strength. Moral: Plant
+carefully, support your tall plants, keep all your plants in easy
+circumstances, don't put them to the trouble of ripening seed (unless
+you specially want it). To this end cut off fading flowers, and also
+cut off buds in places where they would not show well when they came
+out, and all this economized strength will go into the blossoms that
+remain.
+
+_You cannot grow everything. Grow what suits your soil and climate,
+and the best kinds of these, as well as you can._ You may make soil to
+suit a plant, but you cannot make the climate to suit it, and some
+flowers are more fastidious about the air they breathe than about the
+soil they feed upon. There are, however, scores of sturdy, handsome
+flowers, as hardy as highlanders, which will thrive in almost any
+soil, and under all the variations of climate of the British Isles.
+Some will even endure the smoke-laden atmosphere of towns and town
+suburbs; which, sooner or later, is certain death to so many. It is a
+pity that small florists and greengrocers in London do not know more
+about this; and it would be a great act of kindness to them and to
+their customers to instruct them. Then, instead of encouraging the
+ruthless slaughter of primroses, scores and hundreds of plants of
+which are torn up and then sold in a smoky atmosphere to which they
+never adapt themselves, these small shopkeepers might offer plants of
+the many beautiful varieties of poppies, from the grand _Orientalis_
+onwards, chrysanthemums, stocks, wall-flowers, Canterbury bells,
+salvias, oenotheras, snapdragons, perennial lobelias, iris, and
+other plants which are known to be very patient under a long course of
+soot. Most of the hardy California annuals bear town life well.
+Perhaps because they have only to bear it for a year. _Convolvulus
+major_--the Morning Glory, as our American cousins so prettily call
+it--flourishes on a smutty wall as generously as the Virginian
+creeper.
+
+_North borders are safest in winter._ They are free from the dangerous
+alternation of sunshine and frost. Put things of doubtful hardihood
+under a north wall, with plenty of sandy soil or ashes over their
+roots, some cinders on that, and perhaps a little light protection,
+like bracken, in front of them, and their chances will not be bad.
+Apropos to tender things, if your little garden is in a cold part of
+the British Isles, and has ungenial conditions of soil and aspect,
+don't try to keep tender things out of doors in winter; but, if it is
+in the south or west of the British Isles, I should be tempted to very
+wide experiments with lots of plants not commonly reckoned "hardy."
+Where laurels flower freely you will probably be successful eight
+years out of ten. Most fuchsias, and tender things which die down, may
+be kept.
+
+_Very little will keep Jack Frost out, if he has not yet been in_,
+either in the garden or the house. A "hot bottle" will keep frost out
+of a small room where one has stored geraniums, &c., so will a small
+paraffin lamp (which--N. B.--will also keep water-pipes from
+catastrophe). How I have toiled, in my young days, with these same hot
+water bottles in a cupboard off the nursery, which was my nearest
+approach to a greenhouse! And how sadly I have experienced that where
+Mr. Frost goes out Mr. Mould is apt to slink in! Truly, as Mr. Warner
+says, "the gardener needs all the consolations of a high philosophy!"
+
+It is a great satisfaction if things _will_ live out of doors. And in
+a _little_ garden a good deal of coddling may be done. I am going to
+get some round fruit hampers to turn over certain tender pets this
+winter. When one has one's flowers by the specimen and not by the
+score, such cossetting is possible. Ashes and cinders are excellent
+protection for the roots, and for plants--like roses--which do not die
+back to the earth level, and which sometimes require a screen as well
+as a quilt; bracken, fir branches, a few pea sticks, and matting or
+straw are all handy helps. The old gentleman who ran out--without his
+dressing gown--to fling his own bed-quilt over some plants endangered
+by an unexpected frost, came very near to having a fine show of bloom
+and not being there to see it; but, short of this excessive zeal, when
+one's garden is a little one, and close to one's threshold, one may
+catch Jack Frost on the surface of many bits of rough and ready
+fencing on very cold nights.
+
+_In drought, one good soaking with tepid water is worth six
+sprinklings._ Watering is very fatiguing, but it is unskilled labor,
+and one ought to be able to hire strong arms to do it at a small rate.
+But I never met the hired person yet who could be persuaded that it
+was needful to do more than make the surface of the ground look as if
+it had been raining.
+
+There is a "first principle" of which some gardeners are very fond,
+but in which I do not believe, that if you begin to water you must go
+on, and that too few waterings do harm. What I don't believe is that
+they do harm, nor did I ever meet with a gardener who complained of an
+odd shower, even if the skies did not follow it up. An odd sprinkling
+does next to no good, but an odd soaking may save the lives of your
+plants. In very hot weather don't grudge a few waterings to your
+polyanthuses and primroses. If they are planted in open sunny borders
+with no shade or hedge-mulching, they suffer greatly from drought.
+
+_Flowers, like human beings, are, to some extent, creatures of habit._
+They get used to many things which they can't at all abide once in a
+way. If your little garden (like mine) is part of a wandering
+establishment, here to-day and there to-morrow, you may get even your
+roses into very good habits of moving good humoredly, and making
+themselves quickly at home. If plants from the first are accustomed to
+being moved about,--every year, or two years,--they do not greatly
+resent it. A real "old resident," who has pushed his rootlets far and
+wide, and never tried any other soil or aspect, is very slow to settle
+elsewhere, even if he does not die of _nostalgia_ and nervous shock!
+In making cuttings, consider the habits and customs of the parent
+plant. If it has been grown in heat, the cuttings will require heat to
+start them. And so on, as to dry soil or moist, &c. If somebody gives
+you "a root" in hot weather, or a bad time for moving, when you have
+made your hole pour water in very freely. Saturate the ground below,
+"puddle in" your plants with plenty more, and you will probably save
+it, especially if you turn a pot or basket over it in the heat of the
+day. In warm weather plant in the evening, the new-comers then have a
+round of the clock in dews and restfulness before the sun is fierce
+enough to make them flag. In cold weather move to the morning, and for
+the same period they will be safe from possible frost. Little, if any,
+watering is needed for late autumn plantings.
+
+_Those parts of a plant which are not accustomed to exposure are those
+which suffer from it._ You may garden bare-handed in a cold wind and
+not be the worse for it, but, if both your arms were bared to the
+shoulders, the consequences would probably be very different. A
+bundle of rose-trees or shrubs will bear a good deal on their leaves
+and branches, but for every moment you leave their roots exposed to
+drying and chilling blasts they suffer. When a plant is out of the
+ground, protect its crown and its roots at once. If a plant is moved
+quickly, it is advantageous, of course, to take it up with as much
+earth as possible, if the roots remain undisturbed in their little
+plat. Otherwise, earth is no better than any other protection; and in
+sending plants by post, &c. (when soil weighs very heavily), it is
+better to wash every bit of soil out of the roots, and then thoroughly
+wrap them in moss, and outside that in hay or tow, or cotton wool.
+Then, if the roots are comfortably spread in nice mould at the other
+end of the journey, all should go well.
+
+I reserve a sneaking credulity about "lucky-fingers." Or rather, I
+should say, a belief that some people have a strange power (or tact)
+in dealing with the vegetable world, as others have in controlling and
+coaxing animals.
+
+It is a vivid memory of my childhood that (amongst the box-edged
+gardens of a family of eight), that of my eldest brother was almost
+inconvenienced by the luck of his fingers. "Survival of the fittest"
+(if hardiest does mean fittest!) kept the others within bounds; but
+what he begged, borrowed, and stole, survived, all of it, conglomerate
+around the "double velvet" rose, which formed the centrepiece. We
+used to say that when the top layer was pared off, a buried crop came
+up.
+
+An old friend with lucky fingers visited my Little Garden this autumn.
+He wanders all over the world, and has no garden of his own except
+window-boxes in London, where he seems to grow what he pleases. He is
+constantly doing kindnesses, and likes to do them his own way. He
+christened a border (out of which I had not then turned the builders'
+rubbish) Desolation Border, with more candor than compliment. He said
+it wanted flowers, and he meant to sow some. I suggested that, sown at
+that period of the summer, they would not flower this season. He said
+they would. (They did.) None of my suggestions met with favor, so I
+became gratefully passive, and watched the lucky fingers from a
+distance, fluttering small papers, and making mystic deposits here and
+there, through the length and breadth of the garden. I only begged him
+to avoid my labels. The seeds he sowed ranged from three (rather old)
+seeds of bottle gourd to a packet of mixed Virginian stock. They all
+came up. He said, "I shall put them in where I think it is desirable,
+and when they come up you'll see where they are." I did.
+
+For some days after his departure, on other country visits, I received
+plants by post. Not in tins, or boxes, but in envelopes with little or
+no packing. In this way came sea lavender in full bloom, crimson
+monkey plant from the London window box, and cuttings of
+mesembryanthemum. They are all alive and thriving.
+
+The bottle gourd and the annuals have had their day, and it is over;
+but in the most unexpected places there still rise, like ghosts,
+certain plants which completely puzzle me.[4] They have not blossomed,
+but they grow on in spite of frost. Some of them are nearly as tall as
+myself. They almost alarm me when I am dividing violas, and trifling
+with Alpines. They stand over me (without sticks) and seem to say, "We
+are up, you see where we are! We shall grow as long as we think it
+desirable."
+
+Farewell for the present, Little Friend,
+
+Yours, &c.
+
+[Footnote 4: When fully grown these plants proved to be the
+Tree-Mallow, _Lavatera arborea_, the seeds were gathered from
+specimens on the shores of the Mediterranean.]
+
+
+LETTER IV.
+
+    When Candlemas Day is come and gone,
+    The snow lies on a hot stone.--_Old Saw._
+
+
+DEAR LITTLE FRIEND,
+
+Among all the changes and chances of human life which go to make up
+fiction as well as fact, there is one change which has never chanced
+to any man; and yet the idea has been found so fascinating by all men
+that it appears in the literature of every country. Most other fancied
+transformations are recorded as facts somewhere in the history of our
+race. Poor men have become rich, the beggar has sat among princes, the
+sick have been made whole, the dead have been raised, the neglected
+man has awoke to find himself famous, rough and kindly beasts have
+been charmed by lovely ladies into very passable Princes, and it would
+be hard to say that the ugly have not seen themselves beautiful in the
+mirror of friendly eyes; but the old have never become young. The
+elixir of youth has intoxicated the imagination of many, but no drop
+of it has ever passed human lips.
+
+If we ever do just taste anything of the vital, hopeful rapture, the
+elastic delight of the old man of a fairy tale, who leaves his cares,
+his crutches, and his chimney-corner, to go forth again young amongst
+the young,--it is when the winter is ended and the spring is come.
+Some people may feel this rising of the sap of life within them more
+than others, but there are probably very few persons whom the first
+mild airs and bursting buds and pushing flower-crowns do not slightly
+intoxicate with a sort of triumphant pleasure.
+
+What then, dear little friend, must be the February feelings of the
+owner of a Little Garden? Knowing, as we do, every plant and its
+place,--having taken just pride in its summer bloom,--having preserved
+this by cares and trimmings and proppings to a picturesque and florid
+autumn, though wild flowers have long been shrivelled and
+shapeless,--having tidied it up and put a little something comforting
+round it when bloom and outline were absolutely no more: what must we
+feel when we first detect the ruddy young shoots of our favorite
+peonies, or perceive that the brown old hepaticas have become green
+and young again and are full of flower-buds?
+
+The process of strolling, with bent back and peering eyes, by the side
+of the still frosty borders is so deeply interesting, and a very
+little sunshine on a broad band of crocuses has such a summer-like
+effect, that one is apt to forget that it is one of the cheapest ways
+of catching cold. The last days of the gardening year not unfrequently
+lead from the flower-bed to the sick-bed. But though there is for
+susceptible folk a noxious influence in the decaying vegetation of
+autumn, from which spring is free, there is bitter treachery in many a
+spring wind, and the damp of the ground seems to reek with the exuding
+chill of all the frosts that have bound it in mid-winter.
+
+I often wonder that, for some exigencies of weather, outdoor
+red-flannel knickerbockers which one wears in Canada are not more in
+use here. The very small children have all their clothes stuffed into
+them, and tumble safely about in the snow like little Dutchmen. Older
+wearers of petticoats cram all in except the outermost skirt. It is a
+very simple garment made of three pieces,--two (straight) legs and a
+large square. The square is folded like a kerchief, and the leg pieces
+attached to the two sloping sides. A broad elastic and small openings
+on each side and at the top enable these very baggy knickerbockers to
+be easily pulled on for going out (where they effectually exclude cold
+exhalations from snow or damp ground), and pulled off on coming in.
+
+Short of such coddling as this, I strongly urge fleecy cork socks
+inside your garden boots; and I may add that if you've never tried
+them, you can have no idea of the warmth and comfort of a pair of
+boy's common yellow-leather leggings, but the buttons will require
+some adjusting.
+
+Of course, very robust gardeners are independent of these troublesome
+considerations; but the gardening members of a family, whether young
+or old, are very often not those vigorous people who can enjoy their
+fresh air at unlimited tennis or a real good stretching walk over the
+hills. They are oftener those weaker vessels who have to be content
+with strolls, and drives, and sketching, and "pottering about the
+garden."
+
+Now, pottering about the garden in spring and autumn has many risks
+for feeble vitalities, and yet these are just the seasons when
+everything requires doing, and there is a good hour's work in every
+yard of a pet border any day. So _verbum sap_. One has to "pay with
+one's person" for most of one's pleasures, if one is delicate; but it
+is possible to do a great deal of equinoctial grubbing with safety and
+even benefit, if one is very warmly protected, especially about the
+feet and legs. These details are very tedious for young people, but
+not so tedious as being kept indoors by a cold.
+
+And not only must delicate gardeners be cossetted with little
+advantages at these uncertain seasons, the less robust of the flowers
+gain equally by timely care. Jack Frost comes and goes, and leaves
+many plants (especially those planted the previous autumn) half jumped
+out of the ground. Look out for this, and tread them firmly in again.
+A shovel-full of cinder-siftings is a most timely attention round the
+young shoots of such as are poking up their noses a little too early,
+and seem likely to get them frost-bitten. Most alpines and low-growing
+stuff will bear light rolling after the frost has unsettled them. This
+is done in large gardens, but in a Little Garden they can be attended
+to individually. Give a little protection to what is too forward in
+growth, or badly placed, or of doubtful hardihood, or newly planted.
+Roses and hardy perennials can be planted in open weather.
+
+But you will not really be very busy outside till March, and we are
+not concerning ourselves with what has to be done "in heat," where a
+good deal is going on.
+
+Still, in mild climates or seasons (and one must always remember how
+greatly the British Isles vary in parts, as to climate), the idea of
+seedlings and cuttings will begin to stir our souls, when February
+"fills dike," if it is "with black and not with white," _i. e._, with
+rain and not snow. So I will just say that for a Little Garden, and a
+mixed garden, demanding patches, not scores of things, you can raise a
+wonderfully sufficient number of half-hardy things in an ordinary
+room, with one or two bell-glasses to give the moist atmosphere in
+which sitting-rooms are wanting. A common tumbler will cover a dozen
+"seedlings," and there you have two nice little clumps of half a dozen
+plants each, when they are put out. (And mind you leave them space to
+spread.) A lot of little cuttings can be rooted in wet sand.
+Hardwooded cuttings may grow along slowly in cool places; little juicy
+soft ones need warmth, damp, and quick pushing forward. The very tips
+of fuchsias grow very easily struck early in wet sand, and will flower
+the same year. Kind friends will give you these, and if they will also
+give you "tips" of white, yellow, and blue Marguerites (this last is
+_Agathea celestis_), these strike as easily as chrysanthemums, and
+are delightful afterwards to cut from. They are not very tender,
+though not quite hardy.
+
+For the few pots and pans and boxes of cuttings and seedlings which
+you require, it is well worth while to get a small stock of good
+compost from a nursery gardener; leaf mould, peat, and sand, whether
+for seedlings or cuttings. Always _sink_ your pot in a second
+covering. Either have your pots sunk in a box of sand, which you can
+keep damp, or have small pots sunk in larger ones. A _great coat_ to
+prevent evaporation, in some shape, is invaluable.
+
+Yours, &c.,
+
+J. H. E.
+
+
+
+
+SNAP-DRAGONS.
+
+A TALE OF CHRISTMAS EVE.
+
+
+MR. AND MRS. SKRATDJ.
+
+Once upon a time there lived a certain family of the name of Skratdj.
+(It has a Russian or Polish look, and yet they most certainly lived in
+England.) They were remarkable for the following peculiarity. They
+seldom seriously quarrelled, but they never agreed about anything. It
+is hard to say whether it were more painful for their friends to hear
+them constantly contradicting each other, or gratifying to discover
+that it "meant nothing," and was "only their way."
+
+It began with the father and mother. They were a worthy couple, and
+really attached to each other. They had a habit of contradicting each
+other's statements, and opposing each other's opinions, which, though
+mutually understood and allowed for in private, was most trying to the
+by-standers in public. If one related an anecdote, the other would
+break in with half-a-dozen corrections of trivial details of no
+interest or importance to anyone, the speakers included. For
+instance: Suppose the two dining in a strange house, and Mrs. Skratdj
+seated by the host, and contributing to the small-talk of the
+dinner-table. Thus:--
+
+"Oh yes. Very changeable weather indeed. It looked quite promising
+yesterday morning in the town, but it began to rain at noon."
+
+"A quarter past eleven, my dear," Mr. Skratdj's voice would be heard
+to say from several chairs down, in the corrective tones of a husband
+and father; "and really, my dear, so far from being a promising
+morning, I must say it looked about as threatening as it well could.
+Your memory is not always accurate in small matters, my love."
+
+But Mrs. Skratdj had not been a wife and a mother for fifteen years,
+to be snuffed out at one snap of the marital snuffers. As Mr. Skratdj
+leaned forward in his chair, she leaned forward in hers, and defended
+herself across the intervening couples.
+
+"Why, my dear Mr. Skratdj, you said yourself the weather had not been
+so promising for a week."
+
+"What I said, my dear, pardon me, was that the barometer was higher
+than it had been for a week. But, as you might have observed if these
+details were in your line, my love, which they are not, the rise was
+extraordinarily rapid, and there is no surer sign of unsettled
+weather.--But Mrs. Skratdj is apt to forget these unimportant
+trifles," he added, with a comprehensive smile round the
+dinner-table; "her thoughts are very properly absorbed by the more
+important domestic questions of the nursery."
+
+"Now I think that's rather unfair on Mr. Skratdj's part," Mrs. Skratdj
+would chirp, with a smile quite as affable and as general as her
+husband's. "I'm sure he's _quite_ as forgetful and inaccurate as _I_
+am. And I don't think _my_ memory is at _all_ a bad one."
+
+"You forgot the dinner hour when we were going out to dine last week,
+nevertheless," said Mr. Skratdj.
+
+"And you couldn't help me when I asked you," was the sprightly retort.
+"And I'm sure it's not like you to forget anything about _dinner_, my
+dear."
+
+"The letter was addressed to you," said Mr. Skratdj.
+
+"I sent it to you by Jemima," said Mrs. Skratdj.
+
+"I didn't read it," said Mr. Skratdj.
+
+"Well, you burnt it," said Mrs. Skratdj; "and, as I always say,
+there's nothing more foolish than burning a letter of invitation
+before the day, for one is certain to forget."
+
+"I've no doubt you always do say it," Mr. Skratdj remarked with a
+smile, "but I certainly never remember to have heard the observation
+from your lips, my love."
+
+"Whose memory's in fault there?" asked Mrs. Skratdj triumphantly; and
+as at this point the ladies rose, Mrs. Skratdj had the last word.
+
+Indeed, as may be gathered from this conversation, Mrs. Skratdj was
+quite able to defend herself. When she was yet a bride, and young and
+timid, she used to collapse when Mr. Skratdj contradicted her
+statements, and set her stories straight in public. Then she hardly
+ever opened her lips without disappearing under the domestic
+extinguisher. But in the course of fifteen years she had learned that
+Mr. Skratdj's bark was a great deal worse than his bite. (If, indeed,
+he had a bite at all.) Thus snubs that made other people's ears
+tingle, had no effect whatever on the lady to whom they were
+addressed, for she knew exactly what they were worth, and had by this
+time become fairly adept at snapping in return. In the days when she
+succumbed she was occasionally unhappy, but now she and her husband
+understood each other, and having agreed to differ, they unfortunately
+agreed also to differ in public.
+
+Indeed, it was the by-standers who had the worst of it on these
+occasions. To the worthy couple themselves the habit had become second
+nature, and in no way affected the friendly tenor of their domestic
+relations. They would interfere with each other's conversation,
+contradicting assertions, and disputing conclusions for a whole
+evening; and then, when all the world and his wife thought that these
+ceaseless sparks of bickering must blaze up into a flaming quarrel as
+soon as they were alone, they would bowl amicably home in a cab,
+criticizing the friends who were commenting upon them, and as little
+agreed about the events of the evening as about the details of any
+other events whatever.
+
+Yes. The by-standers certainly had the worst of it. Those who were
+near wished themselves anywhere else, especially when appealed to.
+Those who were at a distance did not mind so much. A domestic squabble
+at a certain distance is interesting, like an engagement viewed from a
+point beyond the range of guns. In such a position one may some day be
+placed oneself! Moreover, it gives a touch of excitement to a dull
+evening to be able to say _sotto voce_ to one's neighbor, "Do listen!
+The Skratdjs are at it again!" Their unmarried friends thought a
+terrible abyss of tyranny and aggravation must lie beneath it all, and
+blessed their stars that they were still single, and able to tell a
+tale their own way. The married ones had more idea of how it really
+was, and wished in the name of common sense and good taste that
+Skratdj and his wife would not make fools of themselves.
+
+So it went on, however; and so, I suppose it goes on still, for not
+many bad habits are cured in middle age.
+
+On certain questions of comparative speaking their views were never
+identical. Such as the temperature being hot or cold, things being
+light or dark, the apple-tarts being sweet or sour. So one day Mr.
+Skratdj came into the room, rubbing his hands, and planting himself at
+the fire with "Bitterly cold it is to-day, to be sure."
+
+"Why, my dear William," said Mrs. Skratdj, "I'm sure you must have got
+a cold; I feel a fire quite oppressive myself."
+
+"You were wishing you'd a seal-skin jacket yesterday, when it wasn't
+half as cold as it is to-day," said Mr. Skratdj.
+
+"My dear William! Why, the children were shivering the whole day, and
+the wind was in the north."
+
+"Due east, Mrs. Skratdj."
+
+"I know by the smoke," said Mrs. Skratdj, softly but decidedly.
+
+"I fancy I can tell an east wind when I feel it," said Mr. Skratdj,
+jocosely, to the company.
+
+"I told Jemima to look at the weathercock," murmured Mrs. Skratdj.
+
+"I don't care a fig for Jemima," said her husband.
+
+On another occasion Mrs. Skratdj and a lady friend were conversing.
+
+... "We met him at the Smiths'--a gentlemanlike agreeable man, about
+forty," said Mrs. Skratdj, in reference to some matter interesting to
+both ladies.
+
+"Not a day over thirty-five," said Mr. Skratdj, from behind his
+newspaper.
+
+"Why, my dear William, his hair's grey," said Mrs. Skratdj.
+
+"Plenty of men are grey at thirty," said Mr. Skratdj. "I knew a man
+who was grey at twenty-five."
+
+"Well, forty or thirty-five, it doesn't much matter," said Mrs.
+Skratdj, about to resume her narration.
+
+"Five years matters a good deal to most people at thirty-five," said
+Mr. Skratdj, as he walked towards the door. "They would make a
+remarkable difference to me, I know;" and with a jocular air Mr.
+Skratdj departed, and Mrs. Skratdj had the rest of the anecdote her
+own way.
+
+THE LITTLE SKRATDJS.
+
+The Spirit of Contradiction finds a place in most nurseries, though to
+a very varying degree in different ones. Children snap and snarl by
+nature, like young puppies; and most of us can remember taking part in
+some such spirited dialogues as the following:--
+
+{"I will."
+{"You can't."
+
+{"You shall."
+{"I won't."
+
+{"You daren't."
+{"I dare."
+
+{"I'll tell Mamma."
+{"I don't care if you do."
+
+It is the part of wise parents to repress these squibs and crackers of
+juvenile contention, and to enforce that slowly-learned lesson, that
+in this world one must often "pass over" and "put up with" things in
+other people, being oneself by no means perfect. Also that it is a
+kindness, and almost a duty, to let people think and say and do things
+in their own way occasionally.
+
+But even if Mr. and Mrs. Skratdj had ever thought of teaching all this
+to their children, it must be confessed that the lesson would not have
+come with a good grace from either of them, since they snapped and
+snarled between themselves as much or more than their children in the
+nursery.
+
+The two eldest were the leaders in the nursery squabbles. Between
+these, a boy and a girl, a ceaseless war of words was waged from
+morning to night. And as neither of them lacked ready wit, and both
+were in constant practice, the art of snapping was cultivated by them
+to the highest pitch.
+
+It began at breakfast, if not sooner.
+
+"You've taken my chair."
+
+"It's not your chair."
+
+"You know it's the one I like, and it was in my place."
+
+"How do you know it was in your place?"
+
+"Never mind. I do know."
+
+"No, you don't."
+
+"Yes, I do."
+
+"Suppose I say it was in my place."
+
+"You can't, for it wasn't."
+
+"I can, if I like."
+
+"Well, was it?"
+
+"I sha'n't tell you."
+
+"Ah! that shews it wasn't."
+
+"No, it doesn't."
+
+"Yes, it does."
+
+Etc., etc., etc.
+
+The direction of their daily walks was a fruitful subject of
+difference of opinion.
+
+"Let's go on the Common to-day, Nurse."
+
+"Oh, don't let's go there; we're always going on the Common."
+
+"I'm sure we're not. We've not been there for ever so long."
+
+"Oh, what a story! We were there on Wednesday. Let's go down Gipsey
+Lane. We never go down Gipsey Lane."
+
+"Why, we're always going down Gipsey Lane. And there's nothing to see
+there."
+
+"I don't care. I won't go on the Common, and I shall go and get Papa
+to say we're to go down Gipsey Lane. I can run faster than you."
+
+"That's very sneaking; but I don't care."
+
+"Papa! Papa! Polly's called me a sneak."
+
+"No, I didn't, Papa."
+
+"You did."
+
+"No, I didn't. I only said it was sneaking of you to say you'd run
+faster than me, and get Papa to say we were to go down Gipsey Lane."
+
+"Then you did call him sneaking," said Mr. Skratdj. "And you're a very
+naughty, ill-mannered little girl. You're getting very troublesome,
+Polly, and I shall have to send you to school, where you'll be kept in
+order. Go where your brother wishes at once."
+
+For Polly and her brother had reached an age when it was convenient,
+if possible, to throw the blame of all nursery differences on Polly.
+In families where domestic discipline is rather fractious than firm,
+there comes a stage when the girls almost invariably go to the wall,
+because they will stand snubbing, and the boys will not. Domestic
+authority, like some other powers, is apt to be magnified on the
+weaker class.
+
+But Mr. Skratdj would not always listen even to Harry.
+
+"If you don't give it me back directly, I'll tell about your eating
+the two magnum-bonums in the kitchen garden on Sunday," said Master
+Harry on one occasion.
+
+    "Tell-tale tit!
+    Your tongue shall be slit,
+    And every dog in the town shall have a little bit,"
+
+quoted his sister.
+
+"Ah! You've called me a tell-tale. Now I'll go and tell Papa. You got
+into a fine scrape for calling me names the other day."
+
+"Go, then! I don't care."
+
+"You wouldn't like me to go, I know."
+
+"You daren't. That's what it is."
+
+"I dare."
+
+"Then why don't you?"
+
+"Oh, I am going; but you'll see what will be the end of it."
+
+Polly, however, had her own reasons for remaining stolid, and Harry
+started. But when he reached the landing he paused. Mr. Skratdj had
+especially announced that morning that he did not wish to be
+disturbed, and though he was a favorite, Harry had no desire to invade
+the dining-room at this crisis. So he returned to the nursery, and
+said with a magnanimous air, "I don't want to get you into a scrape,
+Polly. If you'll beg my pardon I won't go."
+
+"I'm sure I sha'n't," said Polly, who was equally well informed as to
+the position of affairs at headquarters. "Go, if you dare."
+
+"I won't if you want me not," said Harry, discreetly waiving the
+question of apologies.
+
+"But I'd rather you went," said the obdurate Polly. "You're always
+telling tales. Go and tell now, if you're not afraid."
+
+So Harry went. But at the bottom of the stairs he lingered again, and
+was meditating how to return with most credit to his dignity, when
+Polly's face appeared through the banisters, and Polly's sharp tongue
+goaded him on.
+
+"Ah! I see you. You're stopping. You daren't go."
+
+"I dare," said Harry; and at last he went.
+
+As he turned the handle of the door, Mr. Skratdj turned round.
+
+"Please, Papa----" Harry began.
+
+"Get away with you!" cried Mr. Skratdj. "Didn't I tell you I was not
+to be disturbed this morning? What an extraor----"
+
+But Harry had shut the door, and withdrawn precipitately.
+
+Once outside, he returned to the nursery with dignified steps, and an
+air of apparent satisfaction, saying,
+
+"You're to give me the bricks, please."
+
+"Who says so?"
+
+"Why, who should say so? Where have I been, pray?"
+
+"I don't know, and I don't care."
+
+"I've been to Papa. There!"
+
+"Did he say I was to give up the bricks?"
+
+"I've told you."
+
+"No, you've not."
+
+"I sha'n't tell you any more."
+
+"Then I'll go to Papa and ask."
+
+"Go by all means."
+
+"I won't if you'll tell me truly."
+
+"I sha'n't tell you anything. Go and ask, if you dare," said Harry,
+only too glad to have the tables turned.
+
+Polly's expedition met with the same fate, and she attempted to cover
+her retreat in a similar manner.
+
+"Ah! you didn't tell."
+
+"I don't believe you asked Papa."
+
+"Don't you? Very well!"
+
+"Well, did you?"
+
+"Never mind."
+
+Etc., etc., etc.
+
+Meanwhile Mr. Skratdj scolded Mrs. Skratdj for not keeping the
+children in better order. And Mrs. Skratdj said it was quite
+impossible to do so when Mr. Skratdj spoilt Harry as he did, and
+weakened her (Mrs. Skratdj's) authority by constant interference.
+
+Difference of sex gave point to many of these nursery squabbles, as it
+so often does to domestic broils.
+
+"Boys never will do what they're asked," Polly would complain.
+
+"Girls ask such unreasonable things," was Harry's retort.
+
+"Not half so unreasonable as the things you ask."
+
+"Ah! that's a different thing! Women have got to do what men tell
+them, whether it's reasonable or not."
+
+"No, they've not!" said Polly. "At least, that's only husbands and
+wives."
+
+"All women are inferior animals," said Harry.
+
+"Try ordering Mamma to do what you want, and see!" said Polly.
+
+"Men have got to give orders, and women have to obey," said Harry,
+falling back on the general principle. "And when I get a wife, I'll
+take care I make her do what I tell her. But you'll have to obey your
+husband when you get one."
+
+"I won't have a husband, and then I can do as I like."
+
+"Oh, won't you? You'll try to get one, I know. Girls always want to be
+married."
+
+"I'm sure I don't know why," said Polly; "they must have had enough of
+men if they have brothers."
+
+And so they went on, _ad infinitum_, with ceaseless arguments that
+proved nothing and convinced nobody, and a continual stream of
+contradiction that just fell short of downright quarrelling.
+
+Indeed, there was a kind of snapping even less near to a dispute than
+in the cases just mentioned. The little Skratdjs, like some other
+children, were under the unfortunate delusion that it sounds clever to
+hear little boys and girls snap each other up with smart sayings, and
+old and rather vulgar play upon words, such as:
+
+"I'll give you a Christmas box. Which ear will you have it on?"
+
+"I won't stand it."
+
+"Pray take a chair."
+
+"You shall have it to-morrow."
+
+"To-morrow never comes."
+
+And so if a visitor kindly began to talk to one of the children,
+another was sure to draw near and "take up" all the first child's
+answers, with smart comments, and catches that sounded as silly as
+they were tiresome and impertinent.
+
+And ill-mannered as this was, Mr. and Mrs. Skratdj never put a stop to
+it. Indeed, it was only a caricature of what they did themselves. But
+they often said, "We can't think how it is the children are always
+squabbling!"
+
+THE SKRATDJ'S DOG AND THE HOT-TEMPERED GENTLEMAN.
+
+It is wonderful how the state of mind of a whole household is
+influenced by the heads of it. Mr. Skratdj was a very kind master, and
+Mrs. Skratdj was a very kind mistress, and yet their servants lived in
+a perpetual fever of irritability that fell just short of discontent.
+They jostled each other on the back stairs, said sharp things in the
+pantry, and kept up a perennial warfare on the subject of the duty of
+the sexes with the general man-servant. They gave warning on the
+slightest provocation.
+
+The very dog was infected by the snapping mania. He was not a brave
+dog, he was not a vicious dog, and no high-breeding sanctioned his
+pretensions to arrogance. But like his owners, he had contracted a bad
+habit, a trick, which made him the pest of all timid visitors, and
+indeed of all visitors whatsoever.
+
+The moment anyone approached the house, on certain occasions when he
+was spoken to, and often in no traceable connection with any cause at
+all, Snap the mongrel would rush out, and bark in his little sharp
+voice--"Yap! yap! yap!" If the visitor made a stand, he would bound
+away sideways on his four little legs; but the moment the visitor went
+on his way again, Snap was at his heels--"Yap! yap! yap!" He barked at
+the milkman, the butcher's boy, and the baker, though he saw them
+every day. He never got used to the washerwoman, and she never got
+used to him. She said he "put her in mind of that there black dog in
+the Pilgrim's Progress." He sat at the gate in summer, and yapped at
+every vehicle and every pedestrian who ventured to pass on the high
+road. He never but once had the chance of barking at burglars; and
+then, though he barked long and loud, nobody got up, for they said,
+"It's only Snap's way." The Skratdjs lost a silver teapot, a Stilton
+cheese, and two electro christening mugs, on this occasion; and Mr.
+and Mrs. Skratdj dispute who it was who discouraged reliance on Snap's
+warning to the present day.
+
+One Christmas time, a certain hot-tempered gentleman came to visit the
+Skratdjs. A tall, sandy, energetic young man, who carried his own bag
+from the railway. The bag had been crammed rather than packed, after
+the wont of bachelors; and you could see where the heel of a boot
+distended the leather, and where the bottle of shaving-cream lay.
+
+As he came up to the house, out came Snap as usual--"Yap! yap! yap!"
+Now the gentleman was very fond of dogs, and had borne this greeting
+some dozen of times from Snap, who for his part knew the visitor quite
+as well as the washerwoman, and rather better than the butcher's boy.
+The gentleman had good, sensible, well-behaved dogs of his own, and
+was greatly disgusted with Snap's conduct. Nevertheless he spoke
+friendly to him; and Snap, who had had many a bit from his plate,
+could not help stopping for a minute to lick his hand. But no sooner
+did the gentleman proceed on his way, than Snap flew at his heels in
+the usual fashion--
+
+     "Yap! Yap! Yap!"
+
+On which the gentleman--being hot-tempered, and one of those people
+with whom it is (as they say) a word and a blow, and the blow
+first--made a dash at Snap, and Snap taking to his heels, the
+gentleman flung his carpet-bag after him. The bottle of shaving-cream
+hit upon a stone and was smashed. The heel of the boot caught Snap on
+the back and sent him squealing to the kitchen. And he never barked at
+that gentleman again.
+
+If the gentleman disapproved of Snap's conduct, he still less liked
+the continual snapping of the Skratdj family themselves. He was an old
+friend of Mr. and Mrs. Skratdj, however, and knew that they were
+really happy together, and that it was only a bad habit which made
+them constantly contradict each other. It was in allusion to their
+real affection for each other, and their perpetual disputing, that he
+called them the "Snapping Turtles."
+
+When the war of words waxed hottest at the dinner-table between his
+host and hostess, he would drive his hands through his shock of sandy
+hair, and say, with a comical glance out of his umber eyes, "Don't
+flirt, my friends. It makes a bachelor feel awkward."
+
+And neither Mr. nor Mrs. Skratdj could help laughing.
+
+With the little Skratdjs his measures were more vigorous. He was very
+fond of children, and a good friend to them. He grudged no time or
+trouble to help them in their games and projects, but he would not
+tolerate their snapping up each other's words in his presence. He was
+much more truly kind than many visitors, who think it polite to smile
+at the sauciness and forwardness which ignorant vanity leads children
+so often to "show off" before strangers. These civil acquaintances
+only abuse both children and parents behind their backs, for the very
+bad habits which they help to encourage.
+
+The hot-tempered gentleman's treatment of his young friends was very
+different. One day he was talking to Polly, and making some kind
+inquiries about her lessons, to which she was replying in a quiet and
+sensible fashion, when up came Master Harry, and began to display his
+wit by comments on the conversation, and by snapping at and
+contradicting his sister's remarks, to which she retorted; and the
+usual snap-dialogue went on as usual.
+
+"Then you like music?" said the hot-tempered gentleman.
+
+"Yes, I like it very much," said Polly.
+
+"Oh, do you?" Harry broke in. "Then what are you always crying over it
+for?"
+
+"I'm not always crying over it."
+
+"Yes, you are."
+
+"No, I'm not. I only cry sometimes, when I stick fast."
+
+"Your music must be very sticky, for you're always stuck fast."
+
+"Hold your tongue!" said the hot-tempered gentleman.
+
+With what he imagined to be a very waggish air, Harry put out his
+tongue, and held it with his finger and thumb. It was unfortunate that
+he had not time to draw it in again before the hot-tempered gentleman
+gave him a stinging box on the ear, which brought his teeth rather
+sharply together on the tip of his tongue, which was bitten in
+consequence.
+
+"It's no use _speaking_," said the hot-tempered gentleman, driving his
+hands through his hair.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Children are like dogs, they are very good judges of their real
+friends. Harry did not like the hot-tempered gentleman a bit the less
+because he was obliged to respect and obey him; and all the children
+welcomed him boisterously when he arrived that Christmas which we have
+spoken of in connection with his attack on Snap.
+
+It was on the morning of Christmas Eve that the china punch bowl was
+broken. Mr. Skratdj had a warm dispute with Mrs. Skratdj as to whether
+it had been kept in a safe place; after which both had a brisk
+encounter with the housemaid, who did not know how it happened; and
+she, flouncing down the back passage, kicked Snap; who forthwith flew
+at the gardener as he was bringing in the horse-radish for the beef;
+who stepping backwards trode upon the cat; who spit and swore, and
+went up the pump with her tail as big as a fox's brush.
+
+[Illustration: AND SHE FLOUNCING DOWN THE BACK PASSAGE KICKED SNAP WHO
+FORTHWITH FLEW AT THE GARDENER.]
+
+To avoid this domestic scene, the hot-tempered gentleman withdrew to
+the breakfast-room and took up a newspaper. By-and-by, Harry and Polly
+came in, and they were soon snapping comfortably over their own
+affairs in a corner.
+
+The hot-tempered gentleman's umber eyes had been looking over the top
+of his newspaper at them for some time, before he called, "Harry, my
+boy!"
+
+And Harry came up to him.
+
+"Shew me your tongue, Harry," said he.
+
+"What for?" said Harry; "you're not a doctor."
+
+"Do as I tell you," said the hot-tempered gentleman; and as Harry saw
+his hand moving, he put his tongue out with all possible haste. The
+hot-tempered gentleman sighed. "Ah!" he said in depressed tones; "I
+thought so!--Polly, come and let me look at yours."
+
+Polly, who had crept up during this process, now put out hers. But the
+hot-tempered gentleman looked gloomier still, and shook his head.
+
+"What is it?" cried both the children. "What do you mean?" And they
+seized the tips of their tongues in their fingers, to feel for
+themselves.
+
+But the hot-tempered gentleman went slowly out of the room without
+answering; passing his hands through his hair, and saying, "Ah! Hum!"
+and nodding with an air of grave foreboding.
+
+Just as he crossed the threshold, he turned back, and put his head
+into the room. "Have you ever noticed that your tongues are growing
+pointed?" he asked.
+
+"No!" cried the children with alarm. "Are they?"
+
+"If ever you find them becoming forked," said the gentleman in solemn
+tones, "let me know."
+
+With which he departed, gravely shaking his head.
+
+In the afternoon the children attacked him again.
+
+"_Do_ tell us what's the matter with our tongues."
+
+"You were snapping and squabbling just as usual this morning," said
+the hot-tempered gentleman.
+
+"Well, we forgot," said Polly. "We don't mean anything, you know. But
+never mind that now, please. Tell us about our tongues. What is going
+to happen to them?"
+
+"I'm very much afraid," said the hot-tempered gentleman, in solemn,
+measured tones, "that you are both of you--fast--going--to--the."
+
+"Dogs?" suggested Harry, who was learned in cant expressions.
+
+"Dogs!" said the hot-tempered gentleman, driving his hands through his
+hair. "Bless your life, no! Nothing half so pleasant! (That is, unless
+all dogs were like Snap, which mercifully they are not.) No, my sad
+fear is, that you are both of you--rapidly--going--_to the
+Snap-Dragons_!"
+
+And not another word would the hot-tempered gentleman say on the
+subject.
+
+
+CHRISTMAS EVE.
+
+
+In the course of a few hours Mr. and Mrs. Skratdj recovered their
+equanimity. The punch was brewed in a jug, and tasted quite as good as
+usual. The evening was very lively. There were a Christmas tree, Yule
+cakes, log, and candles, furmety, and snap-dragon after supper. When
+the company was tired of the tree, and had gained an appetite by the
+hard exercise of stretching to high branches, blowing out "dangerous"
+tapers, and cutting ribbon and pack-thread in all directions, supper
+came, with its welcome cakes and furmety and punch. And when furmety
+somewhat palled upon the taste (and it must be admitted to boast more
+sentiment than flavor as a Christmas dish), the Yule candles were
+blown out and both the spirits and the palates of the party were
+stimulated by the mysterious and pungent pleasures of snap-dragon.
+
+Then, as the hot-tempered gentleman warmed his coat-tails at the
+Yule-log, a grim smile stole over his features as he listened to the
+sounds in the room. In the darkness the blue flames leaped and danced,
+the raisins were snapped and snatched from hand to hand, scattering
+fragments of flame hither and thither. The children shouted as the
+fiery sweetmeats burnt away the mawkish taste of the furmety. Mr.
+Skratdj cried that they were spoiling the carpet; Mrs. Skratdj
+complained that he had spilled some brandy on her dress. Mr. Skratdj
+retorted that she should not wear dresses so susceptible of damage in
+the family circle. Mrs. Skratdj recalled an old speech of Mr. Skratdj
+on the subject of wearing one's nice things for the benefit of one's
+family, and not reserving them for visitors. Mr. Skratdj remembered
+that Mrs. Skratdj's excuse for buying that particular dress when she
+did not need it, was her intention of keeping it for the next year.
+The children disputed as to the credit for courage and the amount of
+raisins due to each. Snap barked furiously at the flames; and the
+maids hustled each other for good places in the doorway, and would not
+have allowed the man-servant to see at all, but he looked over their
+heads.
+
+"St! St! At it! At it!" chuckled the hot-tempered gentleman in
+undertones. And when he said this, it seemed as if the voices of Mr.
+and Mrs. Skratdj rose higher in matrimonial repartee, and the
+children's squabbles became louder, and the dog yelped as if he were
+mad, and the maids' contest was sharper; whilst the snap-dragon flames
+leaped up and up, and blue fire flew about the room like foam.
+
+At last the raisins were finished, the flames were all put out, and
+the company withdrew to the drawing-room. Only Harry lingered.
+
+"Come along, Harry," said the hot-tempered gentleman.
+
+"Wait a minute," said Harry.
+
+"You had better come," said the gentleman.
+
+"Why?" said Harry.
+
+"There's nothing to stop for. The raisins are eaten, the brandy is
+burnt out----"
+
+"No, it's not," said Harry.
+
+"Well, almost. It would be better if it were quite out. Now come. It's
+dangerous for a boy like you to be alone with the Snap-Dragons
+to-night."
+
+"Fiddle-sticks!" said Harry.
+
+"Go your own way, then!" said the hot-tempered gentleman; and he
+bounced out of the room, and Harry was left alone.
+
+
+DANCING WITH THE DRAGONS.
+
+
+He crept up to the table, where one little pale blue flame flickered
+in the snap-dragon dish.
+
+"What a pity it should go out!" said Harry. At this moment the brandy
+bottle on the side-board caught his eye.
+
+"Just a little more," murmured Harry to himself; and he uncorked the
+bottle, and poured a little brandy on to the flame.
+
+Now of course, as soon as the brandy touched the fire, all the brandy
+in the bottle blazed up at once, and the bottle split to pieces; and
+it was very fortunate for Harry that he did not get seriously hurt. A
+little of the hot brandy did get into his eyes, and made them smart,
+so that he had to shut them for a few seconds.
+
+But when he opened them again, what a sight he saw! All over the room
+the blue flames leaped and danced as they had leaped and danced in the
+soup-plate with the raisins. And Harry saw that each successive flame
+was the fold in the long body of a bright blue Dragon, which moved
+like the body of a snake. And the room was full of these Dragons. In
+the face they were like the dragons one sees made of very old blue and
+white china; and they had forked tongues, like the tongues of
+serpents. They were most beautiful in color, being sky-blue. Lobsters
+who have just changed their coats are very handsome, but the violet
+and indigo of a lobster's coat is nothing to the brilliant sky-blue of
+a Snap-Dragon.
+
+How they leaped about! They were for ever leaping over each other like
+seals at play. But if it was "play" at all with them, it was of a very
+rough kind; for as they jumped, they snapped and barked at each
+other, and their barking was like that of the barking Gnu in the
+Zoological Gardens; and from time to time they tore the hair out of
+each others heads with their claws, and scattered it about the floor.
+And as it dropped it was like the flecks of flame people shake from
+their fingers when they are eating snap-dragon raisins.
+
+Harry stood aghast.
+
+"What fun!" said a voice close by him; and he saw that one of the
+Dragons was lying near, and not joining in the game. He had lost one
+of the forks of his tongue by accident, and could not bark for awhile.
+
+"I'm glad you think it funny," said Harry, "I don't."
+
+"That's right. Snap away!" sneered the Dragon. "You're a perfect
+treasure. They'll take you in with them the third round."
+
+"Not those creatures?" cried Harry.
+
+"Yes, those creatures. And if I hadn't lost my bark, I'd be the first
+to lead you off," said the Dragon. "Oh, the game will exactly suit
+you."
+
+"What is it please?" Harry asked.
+
+"You'd better not say 'please' to the others," said the Dragon, "if
+you don't want to have all your hair pulled out. The game is this. You
+have always to be jumping over somebody else, and you must either talk
+or bark. If anybody speaks to you, you must snap in return. I need
+not explain what _snapping_ is. _You know._ If anyone by accident
+gives a civil answer, a claw-full of hair is torn out of his head to
+stimulate his brain. Nothing can be funnier."
+
+"I dare say it suits you capitally," said Harry; "but I'm sure we
+shouldn't like it. I mean men and women and children. It wouldn't do
+for us at all."
+
+"Wouldn't it?" said the Dragon. "You don't know how many human beings
+dance with dragons on Christmas Eve. If we are kept going in a house
+till after midnight, we can pull people out of their beds, and take
+them to dance in Vesuvius."
+
+"Vesuvius!" cried Harry.
+
+"Yes, Vesuvius. We come from Italy originally, you know. Our skins are
+the color of the Bay of Naples. We live on dried grapes and ardent
+spirits. We have glorious fun in the mountain sometimes. Oh! what
+snapping, and scratching, and tearing! Delicious! There are times when
+the squabbling becomes too great, and Mother Mountain won't stand it,
+and spits us all out, and throws cinders after us. But this is only at
+times. We had a charming meeting last year. So many human beings, and
+how they _can_ snap! It was a choice party. So very select. We always
+have plenty of saucy children, and servants. Husbands and wives too,
+and quite as many of the former as the latter, if not more. But
+besides these, we had two vestry-men, a country postmaster, who
+devoted his talents to insulting the public instead of to learning the
+postal regulations, three cabmen and two 'fares,' two young shop-girls
+from a Berlin wool shop in a town where there was no competition, four
+commercial travellers, six landladies, six Old Bailey lawyers, several
+widows from almshouses, seven single gentlemen and nine cats, who
+swore at everything; a dozen sulphur-colored screaming cockatoos; a
+lot of street children from a town; a pack of mongrel curs from the
+colonies, who snapped at the human beings' heels, and five elderly
+ladies in their Sunday bonnets with Prayer-books, who had been
+fighting for good seats in church."
+
+"Dear me!" said Harry.
+
+"If you can find nothing sharper to say than 'Dear me,'" said the
+Dragon, "you will fare badly, I can tell you. Why, I thought you'd a
+sharp tongue, but it's not forked yet, I see. Here they are, however.
+Off with you! And if you value your curls--Snap!"
+
+And before Harry could reply, the Snap-Dragons came on on their third
+round, and as they passed they swept Harry with them.
+
+He shuddered as he looked at his companions. They were as transparent
+as shrimps, but of this lovely cerulean blue. And as they leaped they
+barked--"Howf! Howf!"--like barking Gnus; and when they leaped Harry
+had to leap with them. Besides barking, they snapped and wrangled
+with each other; and in this Harry must join also.
+
+"Pleasant, isn't it?" said one of the blue Dragons.
+
+"Not at all," snapped Harry.
+
+"That's your bad taste," snapped the blue Dragon.
+
+"No, it's not!" snapped Harry.
+
+"Then it's pride and perverseness. You want your hair combing."
+
+"Oh, please don't!" shrieked Harry, forgetting himself. On which the
+Dragon clawed a handful of hair out of his head, and Harry screamed,
+and the blue Dragons barked and danced.
+
+"That made your hair curl, didn't it?" asked another Dragon, leaping
+over Harry.
+
+"That's no business of yours," Harry snapped, as well as he could for
+crying.
+
+"It's more my pleasure than business," retorted the Dragon.
+
+"Keep it to yourself, then," snapped Harry.
+
+"I mean to share it with you, when I get hold of your hair," snapped
+the Dragon.
+
+"Wait till you get the chance," Harry snapped, with desperate presence
+of mind.
+
+"Do you know whom you're talking to?" roared the Dragon; and he opened
+his mouth from ear to ear, and shot out his forked tongue in Harry's
+face; and the boy was so frightened that he forgot to snap, and cried
+piteously,
+
+"Oh, I beg your pardon, please don't!"
+
+On which the blue Dragon clawed another handful of hair out of his
+head, and all the Dragons barked as before.
+
+How long the dreadful game went on Harry never exactly knew. Well
+practised as he was in snapping in the nursery, he often failed to
+think of a retort, and paid for his unreadiness by the loss of his
+hair. Oh, how foolish and wearisome all this rudeness and snapping now
+seemed to him! But on he had to go, wondering all the time how near it
+was to twelve o'clock, and whether the Snap-Dragons would stay till
+midnight and take him with them to Vesuvius.
+
+At last, to his joy, it became evident that the brandy was coming to
+an end. The Dragons moved slower, they could not leap so high, and at
+last one after another they began to go out.
+
+"Oh, if they only all of them get away before twelve!" thought poor
+Harry.
+
+At last there was only one. He and Harry jumped about and snapped and
+barked, and Harry was thinking with joy that he was the last, when the
+clock in the hall gave that whirring sound which some clocks do before
+they strike, as if it were clearing its throat.
+
+"Oh, _please_ go!" screamed Harry in despair.
+
+The blue Dragon leaped up, and took such a claw-full of hair out of
+the boy's head, that it seemed as if part of the skin went too. But
+that leap was his last. He went out at once, vanishing before the
+first stroke of twelve. And Harry was left on his face on the floor in
+the darkness.
+
+
+CONCLUSION.
+
+
+When his friends found him there was blood on his forehead. Harry
+thought it was where the Dragon had clawed him, but they said it was a
+cut from a fragment of the broken brandy bottle. The Dragons had
+disappeared as completely as the brandy.
+
+Harry was cured of snapping. He had had quite enough of it for a
+lifetime, and the catch-contradictions of the household now made him
+shudder. Polly had not had the benefit of his experiences, and yet she
+improved also.
+
+In the first place, snapping, like other kinds of quarrelling,
+requires two parties to it, and Harry would never be a party to
+snapping any more. And when he gave civil and kind answers to Polly's
+smart speeches, she felt ashamed of herself, and did not repeat them.
+
+In the second place, she heard about the Snap-Dragons. Harry told all
+about it to her and to the hot-tempered gentleman.
+
+"Now do you think it's true?" Polly asked the hot-tempered gentleman.
+
+"Hum! Ha!" said he, driving his hands through his hair. "You know I
+warned you, you were going to the Snap-Dragons."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Harry and Polly snubbed "the little ones" when they snapped, and
+utterly discountenanced snapping in the nursery. The example and
+admonitions of elder children are a powerful instrument of nursery
+discipline, and before long there was not a "sharp tongue" amongst all
+the little Skratdjs.
+
+But I doubt if the parents ever were cured. I don't know if they heard
+the story. Besides, bad habits are not easily cured when one is old.
+
+I fear Mr. and Mrs. Skratdj have yet got to dance with the Dragons.
+
+
+
+
+DANDELION CLOCKS.
+
+
+Every child knows how to tell the time by a dandelion clock. You blow
+till the seed is all blown away, and you count each of the puffs--an
+hour to a puff. Every child knows this, and very few children want to
+know any more on the subject. It was Peter Paul's peculiarity that he
+always did want to know more about everything; a habit whose first and
+foremost inconvenience is that one can so seldom get people to answer
+one's questions.
+
+Peter Paul and his two sisters were playing in the pastures. Rich,
+green, Dutch pastures, unbroken by hedge or wall, which
+stretched--like an emerald ocean--to the horizon and met the sky. The
+cows stood ankle-deep in it and chewed the cud, the clouds sailed
+slowly over it to the sea, and on a dry hillock sat Mother, in her
+broad sun-hat, with one eye to the cows and one to the linen she was
+bleaching, thinking of her farm.
+
+Peter Paul and his sisters had found another little hillock where,
+among some tufts of meadow-flowers which the cows had not yet eaten,
+were dandelion clocks. They divided them quite fairly, and began to
+tell each other the time of day.
+
+Little Anna blew very hard for her size, and as the wind blew too, her
+clock was finished in a couple of puffs. "One, two. It's only two
+o'clock," she said, with a sigh.
+
+Her elder sister was more careful, but still the wind was against
+them. "One, two, three. It's three o'clock by me," she said.
+
+Peter Paul turned his back to the wind, and held his clock low. "One,
+two, three, four, five. It's five o'clock by my dandelion--I wonder
+why the fairy clocks all go differently."
+
+"We blow differently," said his sister.
+
+"Then they don't really tell the time," said Peter Paul.
+
+"Oh yes, they do--the fairy time." And the little girls got more
+clocks, and turned their backs to the wind in imitation of Peter Paul,
+and went on blowing. But the boy went up to his mother.
+
+"Mother, why do dandelion clocks keep different time? It was only two
+o'clock by Anna's, and three o'clock by Leena's, and five by mine. It
+can't really be evening with me and only afternoon with Anna. The days
+don't go quicker with one person than another, do they?"
+
+"Drive Daisy and Buttermilk nearer this way," said his mother; "and
+if you must ask questions, ask your Uncle Jacob."
+
+There was a reason for sending the boy to Uncle Jacob with his
+difficulties. He had been born after his father's death, and Uncle
+Jacob had taken up the paternal duties. It was he who had chosen the
+child's name. He had called him Peter Paul after Peter Paul Rubens,
+not that he hoped the boy would become a painter, but he wished him to
+be called after some great man, and--having just returned from
+Antwerp--the only great man he could think of was Peter Paul.
+
+"Give a boy a great name," said Uncle Jacob, "and if there's any stuff
+in him, there's a chance he'll live up to it."
+
+This was a kindly way of putting the proverb about giving a dog a bad
+name, and Uncle Jacob's strongest quality was kindness--kindness and
+the cultivation of tulips.
+
+He was sitting in the summer-house smoking, and reading over a
+bulb-list when Peter Paul found him.
+
+"Uncle Jacob, why do dandelion clocks tell different time to different
+people? Sixty seconds make a minute, sixty minutes make an hour,
+twenty-four hours make a day, three hundred and sixty-five days make a
+year. That's right, isn't it? Hours are the same length for everybody,
+aren't they? But if I got to tea-time when it was only two o'clock
+with Anna, and went on like that, first the days and then the years
+would go much quicker with me, and I don't know if I should die
+sooner,--but it couldn't be, could it?"
+
+"Certainly not," said Uncle Jacob; and he went on with his list.
+"Yellow Pottebakker, Yellow Tournesol and Yellow Rose."
+
+"Then the fairy clocks tells lies?" said Peter Paul.
+
+"That you must ask Godfather Time," replied Uncle Jacob, jocosely. "He
+is responsible for the clocks and the hour-glasses."
+
+"Where does he live?" asked the boy.
+
+But Uncle Jacob had spread the list on the summer-house table; he was
+fairly immersed in it and in a cloud of tobacco smoke, and Peter Paul
+did not like to disturb him.
+
+"Twenty-five Bybloemens, twenty-five Bizards, twenty-five Roses, and
+a seedling-bed for first bloom this year."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Some of Uncle Jacob's seedling tulips were still "breeders," whose
+future was yet unmarked[5] (he did not name them in hope, as he had
+christened his nephew!) when Peter Paul went to sea.
+
+[Footnote 5: The first bloom of seedling tulips is usually without
+stripes or markings, and it is often years before they break into
+stripes; till then they are called breeders, and are not named.]
+
+He was quite unfitted for a farmer. He was always looking forward to
+what he should do hereafter, or backward to the time when he believed
+in fairy clocks. Now a farmer should live in the present, and time
+himself by a steady-going watch with an enamelled face. Then little
+things get done at the right time, which is everything in farming.
+
+"Peter Paul puzzles too much," said his mother, "and that is your
+fault, Jacob, for giving him a great name. But while he's thinking,
+Daisy misses her mash and the hens lay away. He'll never make a
+farmer. Indeed, for that matter, men never farm like women, and Leena
+will take to it after me. She knows all my ways."
+
+They were a kindly family, with no minds to make this short life
+bitter for each other by thwarting, as so many well-meaning relatives
+do; so the boy chose his own trade and went to sea.
+
+He saw many places and many people; he saw a great deal of life, and
+came face to face with death more than once, and under strange shapes.
+He found answers to a lot of the old questions, and then new ones came
+in their stead. Each year seemed to hold more than a lifetime at home
+would have held, and yet how quickly the years went by!
+
+A great many had gone by when Peter Paul set foot once more upon Dutch
+soil.
+
+"And it only seems like yesterday that I went away!" said he.
+
+Mother was dead. That was the one great change. Peter Paul's sisters
+had inherited the farm. They managed it together, and they had divided
+their mother's clothes, and also her rings and earrings, her gold
+skull-cap and head-band and pins,--the heirlooms of a Dutch farmeress.
+
+"It matters very little how we divide them, dear," Anna had said, "for
+I shall never marry, and they will all go to your girl."
+
+The elder sister was married and had two children. She had grown up
+very pretty--a fair woman, with liquid misleading eyes. They looked as
+if they were gazing into the far future, but they did not see an inch
+beyond the farm. Anna was a very plain copy of her in body, in mind
+she was the elder sister's echo. They were very fond of each other,
+and the prettiest thing about them was their faithful love for their
+mother, whose memory was kept as green as pastures after rain.
+
+On Sunday Peter Paul went with them to her grave, and then to service.
+The ugly little church, the same old clerk, even the look of that part
+of the seat where Peter Paul had kicked the paint off during
+sermons--all strengthened the feeling that it could only have been a
+few days since he was there before.
+
+As they walked home he told his sisters about the various religious
+services he had seen abroad. They were curious to hear about them,
+under a sort of protest, for they disapproved of every form of worship
+but their own.
+
+"The music in some of the cathedrals is very beautiful," said Peter
+Paul. "And the choristers in their gowns, singing as they come, always
+affect me. No doubt only some are devout at heart, and others
+careless--which is also the case with the congregation--but outward
+reverence is, at the lowest, an acknowledgment of what we owe, and for
+my own part it helps me. Those white figures are not angels I know;
+but they make one think of them, and I try to be worthier of singing
+God's praises with them."
+
+There was a little pause, and Leena's beautiful eyes were full of
+reflections.
+
+Presently she said, "Who washes all the white gowns?"
+
+"I really don't know," said Peter Paul.
+
+"I fancy they don't bleach anywhere as they do in Holland," she
+continued. "Indeed, Brother, I doubt if Dutchwomen are what they were.
+No one bleaches as Mother did. Mother bleached beautifully."
+
+"Yes, she bleached beautifully," said Anna.
+
+Peter Paul was only to be three weeks at home before he sailed again;
+but when ten days were over, he began to think the rest of the time
+would never come to an end. And this was from no want of love for his
+sisters, or of respect for their friends. One cannot help having an
+irritable brain, which rides an idea to the moon and home again,
+without stirrups, whilst some folks are getting the harness of words
+on to its back. There had been hours in his youth when all the
+unsolved riddles, the untasted joys, the great possibilities of even a
+common existence like his, so pressed upon him, that the shortness of
+the longest life of man seemed the most pitiable thing about it. But
+when he took tea with Vrow Schmidt and her daughters, and supper-time
+would not come, Peter Paul thought of the penance of the Wandering
+Jew, and felt very sorry for him.
+
+The sisters would have been glad if Peter Paul would have given up the
+sea and settled down with them. Leena had a plan of her own for it.
+She wanted him to marry Vrow Schmidt's niece, who had a farm.
+
+"But I am afraid you do not care for young ladies?" said she.
+
+Peter Paul got red.
+
+"Vrow Schmidt's niece is a very nice young lady," said he.
+
+He was not thinking of Vrow Schmidt's niece, he was thinking of
+something else--something for which he would have liked a little
+sympathy; but he doubted whether Leena could give it to him. Indeed,
+to cure heartache is Godfather Time's business, and even he is not
+invariably successful. It was probably a sharp twinge that made Peter
+Paul say, "Have you never wondered that when one's life is so very
+short, one can manage to get so much pain into it?"
+
+Leena dropped her work and looked up. "You don't say so?" said she.
+"Dear Brother, is it rheumatism? I'm sure it must be a dreadful risk
+being out on the masts in the night air, without a roof over your
+head. But do you wear flannel, Peter Paul? Mother was very much
+troubled with rheumatism latterly. She thought it was the dews at
+milking time, and she always wore flannel."
+
+"Yes, dear, Mother always wore flannel," said Anna.
+
+Peter Paul satisfied them on this head. He wore flannel, red flannel
+too, which has virtues of its own.
+
+Leena was more anxious than ever that he should marry Vrow Schmidt's
+niece, and be taken good care of.
+
+But it was not to be: Peter Paul went back to his ship and into the
+wide world again.
+
+Uncle Jacob would have given him an off-set of his new tulip--a real
+novelty, and named--if he had had any place to plant it in.
+
+"I've a bed of breeders that will be worth looking at next time you
+come home," said he.
+
+Leena walked far over the pastures with Peter Paul. She was very fond
+of him, and she had a woman's perception that they would miss him
+more than he could miss them.
+
+"I am very sorry you could not settle down with us," she said, and her
+eyes brimmed over.
+
+Peter Paul kissed the tears tenderly from her cheeks.
+
+"Perhaps I shall when I am older, and have shaken off a few more of my
+whims into the sea. I'll come back yet, Leena, and live very near to
+you and grow tulips, and be as good an old bachelor-uncle to your boy
+as Uncle Jacob was to me."
+
+"And if a foreign wife would suit you better than one of the
+Schmidts," said Leena, re-arranging his bundle for him, "don't think
+we sha'n't like her. Any one you love will be welcome to us, Peter
+Paul--as welcome as you have been."
+
+When they got to the hillock where Mother used to sit, Peter Paul took
+her once more into his arms.
+
+"Good-bye, good Sister," he said. "I have been back in my childhood
+again, and God knows that is both pleasant and good for one."
+
+"And it is funny that you should say so," said Leena, smiling through
+her tears; "for when we were children you were never happy except in
+thinking of when you should be a man."
+
+"And there sit your children, just where we used to play," said Peter
+Paul.
+
+"They are blowing dandelion clocks," said Leena, and she called them.
+
+"Come and bid Uncle Peter good-bye."
+
+He kissed them both.
+
+"Well, what o'clock is it?" said he. The boy gave one mighty puff and
+dispersed his fairy clock at a breath.
+
+"One o'clock," he cried stoutly.
+
+"One, two, three, four o'clock," said the girl. And they went back to
+their play.
+
+And Leena stood by them, with Mother's old sun-hat on her young head,
+and watched Peter Paul's figure over the flat pastures till it was an
+indistinguishable speck.
+
+He turned back a dozen times to wave his hands to her, and to the
+children telling the fairy time.
+
+But he did not ask now why dandelion clocks go differently with
+different people. Godfather Time had told him. He teaches us many
+things.
+
+
+
+
+THE BLIND MAN AND THE TALKING DOG.
+
+[Illustration: THE BLIND MAN AND THE TALKING DOG.]
+
+
+There was once an old man whom Fortune (whose own eyes are bandaged)
+had deprived of his sight. She had taken his hearing also, so that he
+was deaf. Poor he had always been, and as Time had stolen his youth
+and strength from him, they had only left a light burden for death to
+carry when he should come the old man's way.
+
+But Love (who is blind also) had given the Blind Man a Dog, who led
+him out in the morning to a seat in the sun under the crab-tree, and
+held his hat for wayside alms, and brought him safely home at sunset.
+
+The Dog was wise and faithful--as dogs often are--but the wonder of
+him was that he could talk. In which will be seen the difference
+between dogs and men, most of whom can talk; whilst it is a matter for
+admiration if they are wise and faithful.
+
+One day the Mayor's little son came down the road, and by the hand he
+held his playmate Aldegunda.
+
+"Give the poor blind man a penny," said she.
+
+"You are always wanting me to give away my money," replied the boy
+peevishly. "It is well that my father is the richest man in the town,
+and that I have a whole silver crown yet in my pocket."
+
+But he put the penny into the hat which the Dog held out, and the Dog
+gave it to his master.
+
+"Heaven bless you," said the Blind Man.
+
+"Amen," said the Dog.
+
+"Aldegunda! Aldegunda!" cried the boy, dancing with delight "Here's a
+dog who can talk. I would give my silver crown for him. Old man, I
+say, old man! Will you sell me your dog for a silver crown?"
+
+"My master is deaf as well as blind," said the Dog.
+
+"What a miserable old creature he must be," said the boy
+compassionately.
+
+"Men do not smile when they are miserable, do they?" said the Dog;
+"and my master smiles sometimes--when the sun warms right through our
+coats to our bones; when he feels the hat shake against his knee as
+the pennies drop in; and when I lick his hand."
+
+"But for all that, he is a poor wretched old beggar, in want of
+everything," persisted the boy. "Now I am the Mayor's only son, and he
+is the richest man in the town. Come and live with me, and I will give
+the Blind Man my silver crown. I should be perfectly happy if I had a
+talking dog of my own."
+
+"It is worth thinking of," said the Dog. "I should certainly like a
+master who was perfectly happy. You are sure that there is nothing
+else that you wish for?"
+
+"I wish I were a man," replied the boy. "To do exactly as I chose, and
+have plenty of money to spend, and holidays all the year round."
+
+"That sounds well," said the Dog. "Perhaps I had better wait till you
+grow up. There is nothing else that you want, I suppose?"
+
+"I want a horse," said the boy, "a real black charger. My father ought
+to know that I am too old for a hobby-horse. It vexes me to look at
+it."
+
+"I must wait for the charger, I see," said the Dog. "Nothing vexes you
+but the hobby-horse, I hope?"
+
+"Aldegunda vexes me more than anything," answered the boy, with an
+aggrieved air; "and it's very hard when I am so fond of her. She
+always tumbles down when we run races, her legs are so short. It's her
+birthday to-day, but she toddles as badly as she did yesterday, though
+she's a year older."
+
+"She will have learned to run by the time that you are a man," said
+the Dog. "So nice a little lady can give you no other cause of
+annoyance, I am sure?"
+
+The boy frowned.
+
+"She is always wanting something; She wants something now, I see. What
+do you want, Aldegunda?"
+
+"I wish--" said Aldegunda, timidly, "I should like--the blind man to
+have the silver crown, and for us to keep the penny, if you can get it
+back out of the hat."
+
+"That's just the way you go on," said the boy angrily. "You always
+think differently from me. Now remember, Aldegunda, I won't marry you
+when you grow big, unless you agree with what I do, like the wife in
+the story of 'What the Goodman does is sure to be right.'"
+
+On hearing this, Aldegunda sobbed till she burst the strings of her
+hat, and the boy had to tie them afresh.
+
+"I won't marry you at all if you cry," said he.
+
+But at that she only cried the more, and they went away bickering into
+the green lanes.
+
+As to the old man, he had heard nothing; and when the dog licked his
+withered hand, he smiled.
+
+Many a time did the boy return with his playmate to try and get the
+Talking Dog. But the Dog always asked if he had yet got all that he
+wanted, and, being an honorable child, the boy was too truthful to say
+that he was content when he was not.
+
+"The day that you want nothing more but me I will be your dog," it
+said. "Unless, indeed, my present master should have attained perfect
+happiness before you."
+
+"I am not afraid of that," said the boy.
+
+In time the Mayor died, and his widow moved to her native town and
+took her son with her.
+
+Years passed, and the Blind Man lived on; for when one gets very old
+and keeps very quiet in his little corner of the world, Death seems
+sometimes to forget to remove him.
+
+Years passed, and the Mayor's son became a man, and was strong and
+rich, and had a fine black charger. Aldegunda grew up also. She was
+very beautiful, wonderfully beautiful, and Love (who is blind) gave
+her to her old playmate.
+
+The wedding was a fine one, and when it was over the bridegroom
+mounted his black charger and took his bride behind him, and rode away
+into the green lanes.
+
+"Ah, what delight!" he said. "Now we will ride through the town where
+we lived when we were children; and if the Blind Man is still alive,
+you shall give him a silver crown; and if the Talking Dog is alive, I
+shall claim him, for to-day I am perfectly happy and want nothing."
+
+Aldegunda thought to herself--"We are so happy, and have so much, that
+I do not like to take the Blind Man's dog from him;" but she did not
+dare to say so. One--if not two--must bear and forbear to be happy
+even on one's wedding day.
+
+By-and-bye they rode under the crab-tree, but the seat was empty.
+"What has become of the Blind Man?" the Mayor's son asked of a
+peasant who was near.
+
+"He died two days ago," said the peasant. "He is buried to-day, and
+the priest and chanters are now returning from the grave."
+
+"And the Talking Dog?" asked the young man.
+
+"He is at the grave now," said the peasant; "but he has neither spoken
+nor eaten since his master died."
+
+"We have come in the nick of time," said the young man triumphantly,
+and he rode to the church-yard.
+
+By the grave was the dog, as the man had said, and up the winding path
+came the priest and his young chanters, who sang with shrill, clear
+voices--"Blessed are the dead who die in the Lord."
+
+"Come and live with me, now your old master is gone," said the young
+man, stooping over the dog. But he made no reply.
+
+"I think he is dead, sir," said the grave-digger.
+
+"I don't believe it," said the young man fretfully. "He was an
+Enchanted Dog, and he promised I should have him when I could say what
+I am ready to say now. He should have kept his promise."
+
+But Aldegunda had taken the dog's cold head into her arms, and her
+tears fell fast over it.
+
+"You forget," she said; "he only promised to come to you when you
+were happy, if his old master were not happier first; and,
+perhaps,----"
+
+"I remember that you always disagree with me," said the young man,
+impatiently. "You always did do so. Tears on our wedding-day, too! I
+suppose the truth is that no one is happy."
+
+Aldegunda made no answer, for it is not from those one loves that he
+will willingly learn that with a selfish and imperious temper
+happiness never dwells.
+
+And as they rode away again into the green lanes, the shrill voices of
+the chanters followed them--"Blessed are the dead. Blessed are the
+dead."
+
+
+
+
+"SO-SO."
+
+
+"Be sure, my child," said the widow to her little daughter, "that you
+always do just as you are told."
+
+"Very well, Mother."
+
+"Or at any rate do what will do just as well," said the small
+house-dog as he lay blinking at the fire.
+
+"You darling!" cried little Joan, and she sat down on the hearth and
+hugged him. But he got up and shook himself, and moved three turns
+nearer the oven, to be out of the way; for though her arms were soft
+she had kept her doll in them, and that was made of wood, which hurts.
+
+"What a dear, kind house-dog you are!" said little Joan, and she meant
+what she said, for it does feel nice to have the sharp edges of one's
+duty a little softened off for one.
+
+He was no particular kind of a dog, but he was very smooth to stroke,
+and had a nice way of blinking with his eyes, which it was soothing to
+see. There had been a difficulty about his name. The name of the
+house-dog before him was Faithful, and well it became him, as his
+tombstone testified. The one before that was called Wolf. He was very
+wild, and ended his days on the gallows, for worrying sheep. The
+little house-dog never chased anything, to the widow's knowledge.
+There was no reason whatever for giving him a bad name, and she
+thought of several good ones, such as Faithful, and Trusty, and
+Keeper, which are fine old-fashioned titles, but none of these seemed
+quite perfectly to suit him. So he was called So-so; and a very nice
+soft name it is.
+
+The widow was only a poor woman, though she contrived by her industry
+to keep a decent home together, and to get now one and now another
+little comfort for herself and her child.
+
+One day she was going out on business, and she called her little
+daughter and said to her, "I am going out for two hours. You are too
+young to protect yourself and the house, and So-so is not as strong as
+Faithful was. But when I go, shut the house-door and bolt the big
+wooden bar, and be sure that you do not open it for any reason
+whatever till I return. If strangers come, So-so may bark, which he
+can do as well as a bigger dog. Then they will go away. With this
+summer's savings I have bought a quilted petticoat for you and a
+duffle cloak for myself against the winter, and if I get the work I am
+going after to-day, I shall buy enough wool to knit warm stockings for
+us both. So be patient till I return, and then we will have the
+plumcake that is in the cupboard for tea."
+
+"Thank you, Mother."
+
+"Good-bye, my child. Be sure and do just as I have told you," said the
+widow.
+
+"Very well, Mother."
+
+Little Joan laid down her doll, and shut the house-door, and fastened
+the big bolt. It was very heavy, and the kitchen looked gloomy when
+she had done it.
+
+"I wish Mother had taken us all three with her, and had locked the
+house and put the key in her big pocket, as she has done before," said
+little Joan, as she got into the rocking-chair, to put her doll to
+sleep.
+
+"Yes, it would have done just as well," So-so replied, as he stretched
+himself on the hearth.
+
+By-and-bye Joan grew tired of hushabying the doll, who looked none the
+sleepier for it, and she took the three-legged stool and sat down in
+front of the clock to watch the hands. After awhile she drew a deep
+sigh.
+
+"There are sixty seconds in every single minute, So-so," said she.
+
+"So I have heard," said So-so. He was snuffing in the back place,
+which was not usually allowed.
+
+"And sixty whole minutes in every hour, So-so."
+
+"You don't say so!" growled So-so. He had not found a bit, and the
+cake was on the top shelf. There was not so much as a spilt crumb,
+though he snuffed in every corner of the kitchen till he stood
+snuffing under the house-door.
+
+"The air smells fresh," he said.
+
+"It's a beautiful day, I know," said little Joan. "I wish Mother had
+allowed us to sit on the doorstep. We could have taken care of the
+house----"
+
+"Just as well," said So-so.
+
+Little Joan came to smell the air at the keyhole, and, as So-so had
+said, it smelt very fresh. Besides, one could see from the window how
+fine the evening was.
+
+"It's not exactly what Mother told us to do," said Joan, "but I do
+believe----"
+
+"It would do just as well," said So-so.
+
+By-and-bye little Joan unfastened the bar, and opened the door, and
+she and the doll and So-so went out and sat on the doorstep.
+
+Not a stranger was to be seen. The sun shone delightfully. An evening
+sun, and not too hot. All day it had been ripening the corn in the
+field close by, and this glowed and waved in the breeze.
+
+"It does just as well, and better," said little Joan, "for if anyone
+comes we can see him coming up the field-path."
+
+"Just so," said So-so, blinking in the sunshine.
+
+Suddenly Joan jumped up.
+
+"Oh!" cried she, "there's a bird, a big bird. Dear So-so, can you see
+him? I can't, because of the sun. What a queer noise he makes. Crake!
+crake! Oh, I can see him now! He is not flying, he is running, and he
+has gone into the corn. I do wish I were in the corn, I would catch
+him, and put him in a cage."
+
+"I'll catch him," said So-so, and he put up his tail, and started off.
+
+"No, no!" cried Joan. "You are not to go. You must stay and take care
+of the house, and bark if anyone comes."
+
+"You could scream, and that would do just as well," replied So-so,
+with his tail still up.
+
+"No, it wouldn't," cried little Joan.
+
+"Yes, it would," reiterated So-so.
+
+Whilst they were bickering, an old woman came up to the door; she had
+a brown face, and black hair, and a very old red cloak.
+
+"Good evening, my little dear," said she. "Are you all at home this
+fine evening?"
+
+"Only three of us," said Joan; "I, and my doll, and So-so. Mother has
+gone to the town on business, and we are taking care of the house, but
+So-so wants to go after the bird we saw run into the corn."
+
+"Was it a pretty bird, my little dear?" asked the old woman.
+
+"It was a very curious one," said Joan, "and I should like to go after
+it myself, but we can't leave the house."
+
+"Dear, dear! Is there no neighbor would sit on the doorstep for you
+and keep the house till you just slip down to the field after the
+curious bird?" said the old woman.
+
+"I'm afraid not," said little Joan. "Old Martha, our neighbor, is now
+bedridden. Of course, if she had been able to mind the house instead
+of us, it would have done just as well."
+
+"I have some distance to go this evening," said the old woman, "but I
+do not object to a few minutes' rest, and sooner than that you should
+lose the bird I will sit on the doorstep to oblige you, while you run
+down to the cornfield."
+
+"But can you bark if anyone comes?" asked little Joan. "For if you
+can't, So-so must stay with you."
+
+"I can call you and the dog if I see anyone coming, and that will do
+just as well," said the old woman.
+
+"So it will," replied little Joan, and off she ran to the cornfield,
+where, for that matter, So-so had run before her, and was bounding and
+barking and springing among the wheat-stalks.
+
+They did not catch the bird, though they stayed longer than they had
+intended, and though So-so seemed to know more about hunting than was
+supposed.
+
+"I daresay Mother has come home," said little Joan, as they went back
+up the field-path. "I hope she won't think we ought to have stayed in
+the house."
+
+"It was taken care of," said So-so, and "that must do just as well."
+
+When they reached the house, the widow had not come home.
+
+But the old woman had gone, and she had taken the quilted petticoat
+and the duffle cloak, and the plumcake from the top shelf away with
+her; and no more was ever heard of any of the lot.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+"For the future, my child," said the widow, "I hope you will always do
+just as you are told, whatever So-so may say."
+
+"I will, Mother," said little Joan. (And she did.) But the house-dog
+sat and blinked. He dared not speak, he was in disgrace.
+
+I do not feel quite sure about So-so. Wild dogs often amend their ways
+far on this side of the gallows, and the Faithful sometimes fall; but
+when anyone begins by being only So-so, he is very apt to be So-so to
+the end. So-sos so seldom change.
+
+But this one was _very_ soft and nice, and he got no cake that
+tea-time. On the whole we will hope that he lived to be a Good Dog
+ever after.
+
+
+
+
+THE TRINITY FLOWER.
+
+A Legend.
+
+    "Break forth, my lips, in praise, and own
+      The wiser love severely kind:
+    Since, richer for its chastening grown,
+      I see, whereas I once was blind."
+
+--_The Clear Vision_, J. G. WHITTIER.
+
+
+In days of yore there was once a certain hermit, who dwelt in a cell,
+which he had fashioned for himself from a natural cave in the side of
+a hill.
+
+Now this hermit had a great love for flowers, and was moreover learned
+in the virtues of herbs, and in that great mystery of healing which
+lies hidden among the green things of GOD. And so it came to pass that
+the country people from all parts came to him for the simples which
+grew in the little garden which he had made before his cell. And as
+his fame spread, and more people came to him, he added more and more
+to the plat which he had reclaimed from the waste land around.
+
+But after many years there came a Spring when the colors of the
+flowers seemed paler to the hermit than they used to be; and as Summer
+drew on, their shapes, became indistinct, and he mistook one plant
+for another; and when Autumn came, he told them by their various
+scents, and by their form, rather than by sight; and when the flowers
+were gone, and Winter had come, the hermit was quite blind.
+
+Now in the hamlet below there lived a boy who had become known to the
+hermit on this manner. On the edge of the hermit's garden there grew
+two crab trees, from the fruit of which he made every year a certain
+confection, which was very grateful to the sick. One year many of
+these crab-apples were stolen, and the sick folk of the hamlet had
+very little conserve. So the following year, as the fruit was
+ripening, the hermit spoke every day to those who came to his cell,
+saying:--
+
+"I pray you, good people, to make it known that he who robs these crab
+trees, robs not me alone, which is dishonest, but the sick, which is
+inhuman."
+
+And yet once more the crab-apples were taken.
+
+The following evening, as the hermit sat on the side of the hill, he
+overheard two boys disputing about the theft.
+
+"It must either have been a very big man, or a small boy, to do it,"
+said one. "So I say, and I have my reason."
+
+"And what is thy reason, Master Wiseacre?" asked the other.
+
+"The fruit is too high to be plucked except by a very big man," said
+the first boy. "And the branches are not strong enough for any but a
+child to climb."
+
+"Canst thou think of no other way to rob an apple tree but by standing
+a-tip-toe, or climbing up to the apples, when they should come down to
+thee?" said the second boy. "Truly thy head will never save thy heels;
+but here's a riddle for thee:
+
+    Riddle me riddle me re,
+    Four big brothers are we;
+    We gather the fruit, but climb never a tree.
+
+Who are they?"
+
+"Four tall robbers, I suppose," said the other.
+
+"Tush!" cried his comrade. "They are the four winds; and when they
+whistle, down falls the ripest. But others can shake besides the
+winds, as I will show thee if thou hast any doubts in the matter."
+
+And as he spoke he sprang to catch the other boy, who ran from him;
+and they chased each other down the hill, and the hermit heard no
+more.
+
+But as he turned to go home he said, "The thief was not far away when
+thou stoodst near. Nevertheless, I will have patience. It needs not
+that I should go to seek thee, for what saith the Scripture? _Thy sin_
+will find thee out." And he made conserve of such apples as were left,
+and said nothing.
+
+Now after a certain time a plague broke out in the hamlet; and it was
+so sore, and there were so few to nurse the many who were sick, that,
+though it was not the wont of the hermit ever to leave his place, yet
+in their need he came down and ministered to the people in the
+village. And one day, as he passed a certain house, he heard moans
+from within, and entering, he saw lying upon a bed a boy who tossed
+and moaned in fever, and cried out most miserably that his throat was
+parched and burning. And when the hermit looked upon his face, behold
+it was the boy who had given the riddle of the four winds upon the
+side of the hill.
+
+Then the hermit fed him with some of the confection which he had with
+him, and it was so grateful to the boy's parched palate, that he
+thanked and blessed the hermit aloud, and prayed him to leave a morsel
+of it behind, to soothe his torments in the night.
+
+Then said the hermit, "My Son, I would that I had more of this
+confection, for the sake of others as well as for thee. But indeed I
+have only two trees which bear the fruit whereof this is made; and in
+two successive years have the apples been stolen by some thief,
+thereby robbing not only me, which is dishonest, but the poor, which
+is inhuman."
+
+Then the boy's theft came back to his mind, and he burst into tears,
+and cried, "My Father, I took the crab-apples!"
+
+And after awhile he recovered his health; the plague also abated in
+the hamlet, and the hermit went back to his cell. But the boy would
+thenceforth never leave him, always wishing to show his penitence and
+gratitude. And though the hermit sent him away, he ever returned,
+saying,
+
+"Of what avail is it to drive me from thee, since I am resolved to
+serve thee, even as Samuel served Eli, and Timothy ministered unto St.
+Paul?"
+
+But the hermit said, "My rule is to live alone, and without
+companions; wherefore begone."
+
+And when the boy still came, he drove him from the garden.
+
+Then the boy wandered far and wide, over moor and bog, and gathered
+rare plants and herbs, and laid them down near the hermit's cell. And
+when the hermit was inside, the boy came into the garden, and gathered
+the stones and swept the paths, and tied up such plants as were
+drooping, and did all neatly and well, for he was a quick and skilful
+lad. And when the hermit said,
+
+"Thou hast done well, and I thank thee; but now begone," he only
+answered,
+
+"What avails it, when I am resolved to serve thee?"
+
+So at last there came a day when the hermit said, "It may be that it
+is ordained; wherefore abide, my Son."
+
+And the boy answered, "Even so, for I am resolved to serve thee."
+
+Thus he remained. And thenceforward the hermit's garden throve as it
+had never thriven before. For, though he had skill, the hermit was old
+and feeble; but the boy was young and active, and he worked hard, and
+it was to him a labor of love. And being a clever boy, he quickly knew
+the names and properties of the plants as well as the hermit himself.
+And when he was not working, he would go far afield to seek for new
+herbs. And he always returned to the village at night.
+
+Now when the hermit's sight began to fail, the boy put him right if he
+mistook one plant for another; and when the hermit became quite blind,
+he relied completely upon the boy to gather for him the herbs that he
+wanted. And when anything new was planted, the boy led the old man to
+the spot, that he might know that it was so many paces in such a
+direction from the cell, and might feel the shape and texture of the
+leaves, and learn its scent. And through the skill and knowledge of
+the boy, the hermit was in no wise hindered from preparing his
+accustomed remedies, for he knew the names and virtues of the herbs,
+and where every plant grew. And when the sun shone, the boy would
+guide his master's steps into the garden, and would lead him up to
+certain flowers; but to those which had a perfume of their own the old
+man could go without help, being guided by the scent. And as he
+fingered their leaves and breathed their fragrance, he would say,
+"Blessed be GOD for every herb of the field, but thrice blessed for
+those that smell."
+
+And at the end of the garden was set a bush of rosemary. "For," said
+the hermit, "to this we must all come." Because rosemary is the herb
+they scatter over the dead. And he knew where almost everything grew,
+and what he did not know the boy told him.
+
+Yet for all this, and though he had embraced poverty and solitude with
+joy, in the service of GOD and man, yet so bitter was blindness to
+him, that he bewailed the loss of his sight, with a grief that never
+lessened.
+
+"For," said he, "if it had pleased our Lord to send me any other
+affliction, such as a continual pain or a consuming sickness, I would
+have borne it gladly, seeing it would have left me free to see these
+herbs, which I use for the benefit of the poor. But now the sick
+suffer through my blindness, and to this boy also I am a continual
+burden."
+
+And when the boy called him at the hours of prayer, saying, "My
+Father, it is now time for the Nones office, for the marigold is
+closing," or, "The Vespers bell will soon sound from the valley, for
+the bindweed bells are folded," and the hermit recited the appointed
+prayers, he always added,
+
+"I beseech Thee take away my blindness, as Thou didst heal Thy servant
+the son of Timeaus."
+
+And as the boy and he sorted herbs, he cried,
+
+"Is there no balm in Gilead?"
+
+And the boy answered, "The balm of Gilead grows six full paces from
+the gate, my Father."
+
+But the hermit said, "I spoke in a figure, my Son. I meant not that
+herb. But, alas! Is there no remedy to heal the physician? No cure for
+the curer?"
+
+And the boy's heart grew heavier and heavier day by day, because of
+the hermit's grief. For he loved him.
+
+Now one morning as the boy came up from the village, the hermit met
+him, groping painfully with his hands, but with joy in his
+countenance, and he said, "Is that thy step my Son? Come in, for I
+have somewhat to tell thee."
+
+And he said, "A vision has been vouchsafed to me, even a dream.
+Moreover, I believe that there shall be a cure for my blindness."
+
+Then the boy was glad, and begged of the hermit to relate his dream,
+which he did as follows--
+
+"I dreamed, and behold I stood in the garden--thou also with me--and
+many people were gathered at the gate, to whom, with thy help, I gave
+herbs of healing in such fashion as I have been able since this
+blindness came upon me. And when they were gone, I smote upon my
+forehead, and said, 'Where is the herb that shall heal my affliction?'
+And a voice beside me said, 'Here, my Son,' And I cried to thee, 'Who
+spoke?' And thou saidst, 'It is a man in pilgrim's weeds, and lo, he
+hath a strange flower in his hand.' Then said the Pilgrim, 'It is a
+Trinity Flower. Moreover, I suppose that when thou hast it, thou wilt
+see clearly.' Then I thought that thou didst take the flower from the
+Pilgrim and put it in my hand. And lo, my eyes were opened, and I saw
+clearly. And I knew the Pilgrim's face, though where I have seen him I
+cannot yet recall. But I believed him to be Raphael the Archangel--he
+who led Tobias, and gave sight to his father. And even as it came to
+me to know him, he vanished; and I saw him no more."
+
+"And what was the Trinity Flower like, my Father?" asked the boy.
+
+"It was about the size of Herb Paris, my son," replied the hermit.
+"But instead of being fourfold every way, it numbered the mystic
+Three. Every part was threefold. The leaves were three, the petals
+three, the sepals three. The flower was snow-white, but on each of the
+three parts it was stained with crimson stripes, like white garments
+dyed in blood."[6]
+
+[Footnote 6: _Trillium erythrocarpum_. North America.]
+
+Then the boy started up, saying, "If there be such a plant on the
+earth I will find it for thee."
+
+But the hermit laid his hand on him, and said, "Nay, my Son, leave me
+not, for I have need of thee. And the flower will come yet, and then I
+shall see."
+
+And all day long the old man murmured to himself, "Then I shall see."
+
+"And didst thou see me, and the garden, in thy dream, my Father?"
+asked the boy.
+
+"Ay, that I did, my Son. And I meant to say to thee that it much
+pleaseth me that thou art grown so well, and of such a strangely fair
+countenance. Also the garden is such as I have never before beheld it,
+which must needs be due to thy care. But wherefore didst thou not tell
+me of those fair palms that have grown where the thorn hedge was wont
+to be? I was but just stretching out my hand for some, when I awoke."
+
+"There are no palms there, my Father," said the boy.
+
+"Now, indeed it is thy youth that makes thee so little observant,"
+said the hermit. "However, I pardon thee, if it were only for that
+good thought which moved thee to plant a yew beyond the rosemary bush;
+seeing that the yew is the emblem of eternal life, which lies beyond
+the grave."
+
+But the boy said, "There is no yew there, my Father."
+
+"Have I not seen it, even in a vision?" cried the hermit. "Thou wilt
+say next that all the borders are not set with hearts-ease, which
+indeed must be through thy industry; and whence they come I know not,
+but they are most rare and beautiful, and my eyes long sore to see
+them again."
+
+"Alas, my Father!" cried the boy, "the borders are set with rue, and
+there are but a few clumps of hearts-ease here and there."
+
+"Could I forget what I saw in an hour?" asked the old man angrily.
+"And did not the holy Raphael himself point to them, saying, 'Blessed
+are the eyes that behold this garden, where the borders are set with
+hearts-ease, and the hedges crowned with palm!' But thou wouldst know
+better than an archangel, forsooth."
+
+Then the boy wept; and when the hermit heard him weeping, he put his
+arm round him and said,
+
+"Weep not, my dear Son. And I pray thee, pardon me that I spoke
+harshly to thee. For indeed I am ill-tempered by reason of my
+infirmities; and as for thee, GOD will reward thee for thy goodness to
+me, as I never can. Moreover, I believe it is thy modesty, which is as
+great as thy goodness, that hath hindered thee from telling me of all
+that thou hast done for my garden, even to those fair and sweet
+everlasting flowers, the like of which I never saw before, which thou
+hast set in the east border, and where even now I hear the bees
+humming in the sun."
+
+Then the boy looked sadly out into the garden, and answered,
+
+"I cannot lie to thee. There are no everlasting flowers. It is the
+flowers of the thyme in which the bees are rioting. And in the hedge
+bottom there creepeth the bitter-sweet."
+
+But the hermit heard him not. He had groped his way out into the
+sunshine, and wandered up and down the walks, murmuring to himself,
+"Then I shall see."
+
+Now when the Summer was past, one Autumn morning there came to the
+garden gate a man in pilgrim's weeds; and when he saw the boy he
+beckoned to him, and giving him a small tuber root, he said,
+
+"Give this to thy master. It is the root of the Trinity Flower."
+
+And he passed on down towards the valley.
+
+Then the boy ran hastily to the hermit; and when he had told him, and
+given him the root, he said,
+
+"The face of the pilgrim is known to me also, O my Father! For I
+remember when I lay sick of the plague, that ever it seemed to me as
+if a shadowy figure passed in and out, and went up and down the
+streets, and his face was as the face of this pilgrim. But--I cannot
+deceive thee--methought it was the Angel of Death."
+
+Then the hermit mused; and after a little space he answered,
+
+"It was then also that I saw him. I remember now. Nevertheless, let us
+plant the root, and abide what GOD shall send."
+
+And thus they did.
+
+[Illustration: HE HAD GROPED HIS WAY OUT INTO THE SUNSHINE AND
+WANDERED UP AND DOWN THE WALKS.]
+
+And as the Autumn and Winter went by, the hermit became very feeble,
+but the boy constantly cheered him, saying, "Patience, my Father.
+Thou shalt see yet!"
+
+But the hermit replied, "My son, I repent me that I have not been
+patient under affliction. Moreover, I have set thee an ill example, in
+that I have murmured at that which GOD--Who knowest best--ordained for
+me."
+
+And when the boy ofttimes repeated, "Thou shalt yet see," the hermit
+answered, "If GOD will. When GOD will. As GOD will."
+
+And when he said the prayers for the Hours, he no longer added what he
+had added beforetime, but evermore repeated, "If THOU wilt. When THOU
+wilt. As THOU wilt."
+
+And so the Winter passed; and when the snow lay on the ground the boy
+and the hermit talked of the garden; and the boy no longer
+contradicted the old man, though he spoke continually of the
+hearts-ease, and the everlasting flowers, and the palm. For he said,
+"When Spring comes I may be able to get these plants, and fit the
+garden to his vision."
+
+And at length the Spring came. And with it rose the Trinity Flower.
+And when the leaves unfolded, they were three, as the hermit had said.
+Then the boy was wild with joy and with impatience. And when the sun
+shone for two days together, he would kneel by the flower, and say, "I
+pray thee, Lord, send showers, that it may wax apace." And when it
+rained he said, "I pray Thee, send sunshine, that it may blossom
+speedily." For he knew not what to ask. And he danced about the
+hermit, and cried, "Soon shalt thou see."
+
+But the hermit trembled, and said, "Not as I will, but as THOU wilt!"
+
+And so the bud formed. And at length one evening, before he went down
+to the hamlet, the boy came to the hermit and said, "The bud is almost
+breaking, my Father. To-morrow thou shalt see."
+
+Then the hermit moved his hands till he laid them on the boy's head,
+and he said,
+
+"The Lord repay thee sevenfold for all thou hast done for me, dear
+child. And now I pray thee, my Son, give me thy pardon for all in
+which I have sinned against thee by word or deed, for indeed my
+thoughts of thee have ever been tender." And when the boy wept, the
+hermit still pressed him, till he said that he forgave him. And as
+they unwillingly parted, the hermit said, "I pray thee, dear Son, to
+remember that, though late, I conformed myself to the will of GOD."
+
+Saying which, the hermit went into his cell, and the boy returned to
+the village.
+
+But so great was his anxiety, that he could not rest; and he returned
+to the garden ere it was light, and sat by the flower till the dawn.
+
+And with the first dim light he saw that the Trinity Flower was in
+bloom. And as the hermit had said, it was white, and stained with
+crimson as with blood.
+
+Then the boy shed tears of joy, and he plucked the flower and ran into
+the hermit's cell, where the hermit lay very still upon his couch. And
+the boy said, "I will not disturb him. When he wakes he will find the
+flower." And he went out and sat down outside the cell and waited. And
+being weary as he waited, he fell asleep.
+
+Now before sunrise, whilst it was yet early, he was awakened by the
+voice of the hermit crying, "My Son, my dear Son!" and he jumped up,
+saying, "My Father!"
+
+But as he spoke the hermit passed him. And as he passed he turned, and
+the boy saw that his eyes were open. And the hermit fixed them long
+and tenderly on him.
+
+Then the boy cried, "Ah, tell me, my Father, dost thou see?"
+
+And he answered, "_I see now!_" and so passed on down the walk.
+
+And as he went through the garden, in the still dawn, the boy
+trembled, for the hermit's footsteps gave no sound. And he passed
+beyond the rosemary bush, and came not again.
+
+And when the day wore on, and the hermit did not return, the boy went
+into his cell.
+
+Without, the sunshine dried the dew from paths on which the hermit's
+feet had left no prints, and cherished the spring flowers bursting
+into bloom. But within, the hermit's dead body lay stretched upon his
+pallet, and the Trinity Flower was in his hand.
+
+
+
+
+THE KYRKEGRIM TURNED PREACHER.
+
+A Legend
+
+
+It is said that in Norway every church has its own Niss, or Brownie.
+
+They are of the same race as the Good People, who haunt farmhouses,
+and do the maids' work for a pot of cream. They are the size of a
+year-old child, but their faces are the faces of aged men. Their
+common dress is of grey home-spun, with red peaked caps; but on
+Michaelmas Day they wear round hats.
+
+The Church Niss is called Kyrkegrim. His duty is to keep the church
+clean, and to scatter the marsh-marigold flowers on the floor before
+service. He also keeps order in the congregation, pinches those who
+fall asleep, cuffs irreverent boys, and hustles mothers with crying
+children out of church as quickly and decorously as possible.
+
+But his business is not with church-brawlers alone.
+
+When the last snow avalanche has slipped from the high-pitched roof,
+and the gentian is bluer than the sky, and Baldur's Eyebrow blossoms
+in the hot spring sun, pious folk are wont to come to church some
+time before service, and to bring their spades, and rakes, and
+watering-pots with them, to tend the graves of the dead. The Kyrkegrim
+sits on the Lych Gate and overlooks them.
+
+At those who do not lay by their tools in good time he throws pebbles,
+crying to each, "_Skynde dig!_" (Make haste!), and so drives them in.
+And when the bells begin, should any man fail to bow to the church as
+the custom is, the Kyrkegrim snatches his hat from behind, and he sees
+it no more.
+
+Nothing displeases the Kyrkegrim more than when people fall asleep
+during the sermon. This will be seen in the following story.
+
+Once upon a time there was a certain country church, which was served
+by a very mild and excellent priest, and haunted by a most active
+Kyrkegrim.
+
+Not a speck of dust was to be seen from the altar to the porch, and
+the behavior of the congregation was beyond reproach.
+
+But there was one fat farmer who slept during the sermon, and do what
+the Kyrkegrim would, he could not keep him awake. Again and again did
+he pinch him, nudge him, or let in a cold draught of wind upon his
+neck. The fat farmer shook himself, pulled up his neck-kerchief, and
+dozed off again.
+
+"Doubtless the fault is in my sermons," said the priest, when the
+Kyrkegrim complained to him. For he was humble-minded.
+
+But the Kyrkegrim knew that this was not the case, for there was no
+better preacher in all the district.
+
+And yet when he overheard the farmer's sharp-tongued little wife speak
+of this and that in the discourse, he began to think it might be so.
+No doubt the preacher spoke somewhat fast or slow, a little too loud
+or too soft. And he was not "stirring" enough, said the farmer's wife;
+a failing which no one had ever laid at her door.
+
+"His soul is in my charge," sighed the good priest, "and I cannot even
+make him hear what I have got to say. A heavy reckoning will be
+demanded of me!"
+
+"The sermons are in fault, beyond a doubt," the Kyrkegrim said. "The
+farmer's wife is quite right. She's a sensible woman, and can use a
+mop as well as myself."
+
+"Hoot, hoot!" cried the church owl, pushing his head out of the
+ivy-bush. "And shall she be Kyrkegrim when thou art turned preacher,
+and the preacher sits on the judgment seat? Not so, little Niss! Dust
+thou the pulpit, and leave the parson to preach, and let the Maker of
+souls reckon with them."
+
+"If the preacher cannot keep the people awake, it is time that another
+took his place," said the Kyrkegrim.
+
+"He is not bound to find ears as well as arguments," retorted the
+owl, and he drew back into his ivy bush.
+
+But the Kyrkegrim settled his red cap firmly on his head, and betook
+himself to the priest, whose meekness (as is apt to be the case)
+encouraged the opposite qualities in those with whom he had to do.
+
+"The farmer must be roused somehow," said he. "It is a disgrace to us
+all, and what, in all the hundreds of years I have been Kyrkegrim,
+never befell me before. It will be well if next Sunday you preach a
+stirring sermon on some very important subject."
+
+So the preacher preached on Sin--fair of flower, and bitter of
+fruit!--and as he preached his own cheeks grew pale for other men's
+perils, and the Kyrkegrim trembled as he sat listening in the porch,
+though he had no soul to lose.
+
+"Was that stirring enough?" he asked, twitching the sleeve of the
+farmer's wife as she flounced out after service.
+
+"Splendid!" said she, "and must have hit some folk pretty hard too."
+
+"It kept your husband awake this time, I should think," said the
+Kyrkegrim.
+
+"Heighty teighty!" cried the farmer's wife. "I'd have you to know my
+good man is as decent a body as any in the parish, if he does take a
+nap on Sundays! He is no sinner if he is no saint, thank Heaven, and
+the parson knows better than to preach at him."
+
+"Next Sunday," said the Kyrkegrim to the priest, "preach about
+something which concerns everyone; respectable people as well as
+others."
+
+So the preacher preached of Death--whom tears cannot move, nor riches
+bribe, nor power defy. The uncertain interruption and the only certain
+end of all life's labors! And as he preached, the women sitting in
+their seats wept for the dead whose graves they had been tending, and
+down the aged cheeks of the Kyrkegrim there stole tears of pity for
+poor men, whose love and labors are cut short so soon.
+
+But the farmer slept as before.
+
+"Do you expect to die?" asked the Kyrkegrim.
+
+"Surely," replied the farmer, "we must all die some day, and one does
+not need a preacher to tell him that. But it was a funeral sermon, my
+wife thinks. There has been bereavement in the miller's family."
+
+"Men are a strange race," thought the Kyrkegrim; but he went to the
+priest and said--"The farmer is not afraid of death. You must find
+some subject of which men really stand in awe."
+
+So when Sunday came round again, the preacher preached of
+Judgment--that dread Avenger who dogs the footsteps of trespass, even
+now! That awful harvest of whirlwind and corruption which they must
+reap who sow to the wind and to the flesh! Lightly regarded, but
+biding its time, till a man's forgotten follies find him out at last.
+
+But the farmer slept on. He did not wake when the preacher spoke of
+judgment to come, the reckoning that cannot be shunned, the trump of
+the Archangel, and the Day of Doom.
+
+"On Michaelmas Day I shall preach myself," said the Kyrkegrim, "and if
+I cannot rouse him, I shall give up my charge here."
+
+This troubled the poor priest, for so good a Kyrkegrim was not likely
+to be found again.
+
+Nevertheless he consented, for he was very meek, and when Michaelmas
+Day came the Kyrkegrim pulled a preacher's gown over his home-spun
+coat, and laid his round hat on the desk by the iron-clamped Bible,
+and began his sermon.
+
+"I shall give no text," said he, "but when I have said what seems good
+to me, it is for those who hear to see if the Scriptures bear me out."
+
+This was an uncommon beginning, and most of the good folk pricked
+their ears, the farmer among them, for novelty is agreeable in church
+as elsewhere.
+
+"I speak," said the Kyrkegrim, "of that which is the last result of
+sin, the worst of deaths, and the beginning of judgment--hardness of
+heart."
+
+The farmer looked a little uncomfortable, and the Kyrkegrim went
+bravely on.
+
+"Let us seek examples in Scripture. We will speak of Pharaoh."
+
+But when the Kyrkegrim spoke of Pharaoh the farmer was at ease again.
+And by-and-bye a film stole gently before his eyes, and he nodded in
+his seat.
+
+This made the Kyrkegrim very angry, for he did not wish to give up his
+place, and yet a Niss may not break his word.
+
+"Let us look at the punishment of Pharaoh," he cried. But the farmer's
+eyes were still closed, and the Kyrkegrim became agitated, and turned
+hastily over the leaves of the iron-clamped Bible before him.
+
+"We will speak of the plagues," said he. "The plague of blood, the
+plague of frogs, the plague of lice, the plague of flies----"
+
+At this moment the farmer snored.
+
+For a brief instant anger and dismay kept the Kyrkegrim silent. Then
+shutting the iron clamps he pushed the Book on one side, and
+scrambling on to a stool, stretched his little body well over the
+desk, and said, "But these flies were as nothing to the fly that is
+coming in the turnip-crop!"
+
+The words were hardly out of his mouth when the farmer sat suddenly
+upright and half rising from his place, cried anxiously, "Eh, what
+sir? What does he say, wife? A new fly among the turnips?"
+
+"Ah, soul of clay!" yelled the indignant Kyrkegrim, as he hurled his
+round hat at the gaping farmer. "Is it indeed for such as thee that
+Eternal Life is kept in store?"
+
+And drawing the preacher's gown over his head, he left it in the
+pulpit, and scrambling down the steps hastened out of church.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+As he had been successful in rousing the sleepy farmer the Kyrkegrim
+did not abandon his duties; but it is said that thenceforward he kept
+to them alone, and left heavier responsibilities in higher hands.
+
+
+
+
+LADDERS TO HEAVEN.[7]
+
+A Legend.
+
+
+There was a certain valley in which the grass was very green, for it
+was watered by a stream which never failed; and once upon a time
+certain pious men withdrew from the wide world and from their separate
+homes, and made a home in common, and a little world for themselves,
+in the valley where the grass was green.
+
+[Footnote 7: "Ladders to Heaven" was an old name for Lilies of the
+Valley.]
+
+The world outside, in those days, was very rough and full of wars; but
+the little world in the Green Valley was quiet and full of peace. And
+most of these men who had taken each other for brothers, and had made
+one home there, were happy, and being good deserved to be so. And some
+of them were good with the ignorant innocence of children, and there
+were others who had washed their robes and made them white in the
+Blood of the Lamb.
+
+Brother Benedict was so named, because where he came blessings
+followed. This was said of him, from a child, when the babies stopped
+crying if he ran up to them, and when on the darkest days old women
+could see sunbeams playing in his hair. He had always been fond of
+flowers, and as there were not many things in the Brotherhood of the
+Green Valley on which a man could full-spend his energies, when
+prayers were said, and duties done, Brother Benedict spent the balance
+of his upon the garden. And he grew herbs for healing, and plants that
+were good for food, and flowers that were only pleasant to the eyes;
+and where he sowed he reaped, and what he planted prospered, as if
+blessings followed him.
+
+In time the fame of his flowers spread beyond the valley, and people
+from the world outside sent to beg plants and seeds of him, and sent
+him others in return. And he kept a roll of the plants that he
+possessed, and the list grew longer with every Autumn and every
+Spring; so that the garden of the monastery became filled with rare
+and curious things, in which Brother Benedict took great pride.
+
+The day came when he thought that he took too much pride. For he said,
+"The cares of the garden are, after all, cares of this world, and I
+have set my affections upon things of the earth," And at last it so
+troubled him that he obtained leave to make a pilgrimage to the cell
+of an old hermit, whose wisdom was much esteemed, and to him he told
+his fears.
+
+But when Brother Benedict had ended his tale, the old man said, "Go
+in peace. What a man labors for he must love, if he be made in the
+image of his Maker; for He rejoices in the works of His hands."
+
+So Brother Benedict returned, and his conscience was at ease till the
+Autumn, when a certain abbot, who spent much care and pains upon his
+garden, was on a journey, and rested at the Monastery of the Green
+Valley. And it appeared that he had more things in his garden than
+Brother Benedict, for the abbey was very rich, and he had collected
+far and near. And Brother Benedict was jealous for the garden of the
+monastery, and then he was wrath with himself for his jealousy; and
+when the abbot had gone he obtained leave, and made a pilgrimage to
+the cell of the hermit and told him all. And the old man, looking at
+him, loved him, and he said:
+
+"My son, a man may bind his soul with fine-drawn strands till it is
+either entangled in a web or breaks all bonds. Gird thyself with one
+strong line, and let little things go by."
+
+And Benedict said, "With which line?"
+
+And the hermit answered, "What said Augustine? 'Love, and do what thou
+wilt.' If therefore thy labors and thy pride be for others, and not
+for thyself, have no fear. He who lives for GOD and for his neighbors
+may forget his own soul in safety, and shall find it hereafter; for
+for such a spirit--of the toils and pains and pleasures of this
+life--grace shall alike build Ladders unto Heaven."
+
+Then Benedict bowed his head, and departed; and when he reached home
+he found a messenger who had ridden for many days, and who brought him
+a bundle of roots, and a written message, which ran thus:
+
+"These roots, though common with us, are unknown where thou dwellest.
+It is a lily, as white and as fragrant as the Lily of the
+Annunciation, but much smaller. Beautiful as it is, it is hardy, and
+if planted in a damp spot and left strictly undisturbed it will spread
+and flourish like a weed. It hath a rare and delicate perfume, and
+having white bells on many footstalks up the stem, one above the
+other, as the angels stood in Jacob's dream, the common children call
+it Ladders to Heaven."
+
+And when Brother Benedict read the first part of the letter he laughed
+hastily, and said, "The abbot hath no such lily." But when he had
+finished it, he said, "GOD rid my soul of self-seeking! The common
+children shall have them, and not I."
+
+And, seizing the plants and a spade, he ran out beyond the bounds of
+the monastery, and down into a little copse where the earth was kept
+damp by the waters of the stream which never failed. And there he
+planted the roots, and as he turned to go away he said, "The blessing
+of our Maker rest on thee! And give joy of thy loveliness, and
+pleasure of thy perfume, to others when I am gone. And let him who
+enjoys remember the soul of him who planted thee."
+
+[Illustration: BROTHER BENEDICT BLESSES THE FLOWERS.]
+
+And he covered his face with his hands, and went back to the
+monastery. And he did not enter the new plant upon his roll, for he
+had no such lily in his garden.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Brother Benedict's soul had long departed, when in times of turbulence
+and change, the monastery was destroyed, and between fire and plunder
+and reckless destruction everything perished, and even the garden was
+laid waste. But no one touched the Lilies of the Valley in the copse
+below, for they were so common that they were looked upon as weeds.
+And though nothing remained of the brotherhood but old tales, these
+lingered, and were handed on; and when the children played with the
+lilies and bickered over them, crying, "My ladder has twelve white
+angels and yours has only eight," they would often call them Brother
+Benedict's flowers, adding, "but the real right name of them is
+Ladders to Heaven."
+
+And after a time a new race came into the Green Valley and filled it;
+and the stream which never failed turned many wheels, and trades were
+brisk, and they were what are called black trades. And men made money
+soon, and spent it soon, and died soon; and in the time between each
+lived for himself, and had little reverence for those who were gone,
+and less concern for those who should come after. And at first they
+were too busy to care for what is only beautiful, but after a time
+they built smart houses, and made gardens, and went down into the
+copse and tore up clumps of Brother Benedict's flowers, and planted
+them in exposed rockeries, and in pots in dry hot parlors, where they
+died, and then the good folk went back for more; and no one reckoned
+if he was taking more than his fair share, or studied the culture of
+what he took away, or took the pains to cover the roots of those he
+left behind, and in three years there was not left a Ladder to Heaven
+in all the Green Valley.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The Green Valley had long been called the Black Valley, when those who
+labored and grew rich in it awoke--as man must sooner or later
+awake--to the needs of the spirit above the flesh. They were a race
+famed for music, and they became more so. The love of beauty also
+grew, and was cultivated, and in time there were finer flowers
+blossoming in that smoky air than under many brighter skies. And with
+the earnings of their grimy trades they built a fine church, and
+adorned it more richly than the old church of the monastery, that had
+been destroyed.
+
+The parson who served this church and this people was as well-beloved
+by them as Brother Benedict had been in his day, and it was in
+striving to link their minds with sympathies of the past as well as
+hopes of the future, that one day he told them the legend of the
+Ladders to Heaven. A few days afterwards he was wandering near the
+stream, when he saw two or three lads with grimy faces busily at work
+in the wood through which the stream ran. At first, when he came
+suddenly on them, they looked shyly at one another, and at last one
+stood up and spoke.
+
+"It's a few lily roots, sir, we got in the market, and we're planting
+them; and two or three of us have set ourselves to watch that they are
+not shifted till they've settled. Maybe we shall none of us see them
+fair wild here again, any more than Brother Benedict did. For black
+trades are short-lived trades, and there's none of us will be as old
+as he. But maybe we can take a pride too in thinking that they'll blow
+for other folk and other folk's children when we are gone."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Once more the fastidious[8] flowers spread, and became common in the
+valley, and were guarded with jealous care; and the memory of Brother
+Benedict lingered by the stream, and was doubly blessed.
+
+[Footnote 8: It is well known that Lilies of the Valley are flowers
+which resent disturbance, though they are perfectly hardy and vigorous
+if left in peace.]
+
+For if he is blessed whose love and wisdom add to the world's worth,
+and make life richer in pleasant things, thrice blessed is he whose
+unselfish example shall be culture to the ignorant or the thoughtless,
+and set Ladders to Heaven for the feet of those who follow him!
+
+
+
+
+SUNFLOWERS AND A RUSHLIGHT.
+
+CHAPTER I.
+
+     "A MAN NAMED SOLOMON." JAEL AND THE CHINA POODLE. JOHNSON'S
+     DICTIONARY. NAIL-SPOTS. FAMILY BEREAVEMENTS. A FAMILY DOCTOR. THE
+     BOOKS IN THE ATTIC. A PUZZLING TALE. "A JOURNEY TO GO."
+
+
+Doctor Brown is our doctor. He lives in our village, at the top of the
+hill.
+
+When we were quite little, and had scarlet-fever, and measles, and
+those things, Dr. Brown used to be very kind to us, and dress his
+first finger up in his pocket-handkerchief with a knot for the turban,
+and rings on his thumb and middle finger, and do--"At the top of a
+hill lived a man named Solomon," in a hollow voice, which frightened
+me rather.
+
+And then he used to say--"Wise man, Solomon! He lived at the top of a
+hill," and laugh till his face got redder than usual, and his eyes
+filled with laughter-tears, and twinkled in the nice way they do, and
+I was not frightened any more.
+
+Dr. Brown left off being our doctor once. That was when he and
+Grandmamma quarrelled. But they made it up again.
+
+It was when I was so unhappy--I tried to help it, but I really could
+not--about my poor dear white china-poodle (Jael broke him when she
+was dusting, and then she swept up his tail, though I have so begged
+her to keep the bits when she cleans our room, and breaks things; and
+now he never never can be mended, all the days of my life):--it was
+when I was crying about him, and Grandmamma told Dr. Brown how silly I
+was, to make me feel ashamed, that he said--"There are some tempers,
+which, if they haven't enough people to love, will love things."
+
+Margery says he did not say _tempers_ but _temperaments_. I know it
+began with temper, because it reminded me of Jael, who said "them
+tears is all temper, Miss Grace," which was very hard, because she
+knew--she knew quite well--it was about my poodle; and though
+accidents will happen, she need not have swept up his tail.
+
+Margery is sure to be right. She always is. Besides, we looked it out
+in Johnson's Dictionary, which we are rather fond of, though it is
+very heavy to lift. We like the bits out of books, in small print; but
+I could not understand the bits to the word _temperament_, and I do
+not think Margery could either, though she can understand much more
+than I can.
+
+There is a very odd bit to the word _temperamental_, and it is signed
+_Brown_; but we do not know if that means our Dr. Brown. This is the bit:
+"That _temperamental_ dignotions, and conjecture of prevalent humours,
+may be collected from spots in our nails, we concede."--_Brown._
+
+We could not understand it, so we lifted down the other volume (one is
+just as heavy as the other), and looked out "Dignotion," and it means
+"distinction, distinguishing mark," and then there is the same bit
+over again, but at the end, is "_Brown's Vulgar Errors_." And we did
+not like to ask Dr. Brown if they were his vulgar errors, for fear he
+should think us rude. I thought we might perhaps ask him if they were
+his errors, and leave out _vulgar_, which is rather a rude word, but
+Margery thought it better not, and she is sure to be right. She always
+is.
+
+But we should have liked to ask Dr. Brown about it, if it had not been
+rude, because we think a good deal of spots on our nails. All we know
+about them is that you begin at your thumb, and count on to your
+little finger, in this way,
+
+    "A Gift, a Beau,
+    A Friend, a Foe,
+    A Journey to go."
+
+I like having a Beau, or a Friend; Margery likes a Gift or a Journey
+to go. We neither of us like having Foes.
+
+And it shows that it does come true, because Margery had a white spot
+in the middle of her left little finger nail, just when our father's
+old friend wrote to Grandmamma, for one of us to go and pay him a
+visit; and Margery went, because she was the elder of the two.
+
+I do not know how I bore parting with her, except with hoping that she
+would enjoy herself, for she always had wanted so very much to have a
+journey to go. But if she had been at home, so that I could have taken
+her advice, I do not think I should have been so silly about the
+Sunflowers and the Rushlight.
+
+She says--"You'd have put on your slippers, and had a blanket round
+you at least. But, oh, my dear Grace, you always are so rash!"
+
+I did not know I was. I thought rash people were brave; and if I had
+been brave, the Rushlight would never have come out of the roof. Still
+Margery is sure to be right. I know I am very foolish and lonely
+without her.
+
+There are only two of us. Our father, and our mother, and our brother,
+all died of fever, nearly five years ago. We shall never see them
+again till we go to Paradise, and that is one reason why we wish to
+try to be good and never to be naughty, so that we may be sure to see
+them again.
+
+I remember them a little. I remember being frightened by sitting so
+high up on my father's shoulder, and then feeling so safe when I got
+into my mother's lap; and I remember Robin's curls, and his taking my
+woolly ball from me. I remember our black frocks coming in the
+hair-trunk with brass nails to the sea-side, where Margery and I were
+with our nurse, and her telling the landlady that our father and
+mother and brother were all laid in one grave. And I remember going
+home, and seeing the stone flags up in the yard, and a deep dark hole
+near the pump, and thinking that was the grave; and how Margery found
+me stark with fright, and knew better, and told me that the grave was
+in the church-yard, and that this hole was only where workmen had been
+digging for drains.
+
+And then never seeing those three, day after day, and having to do
+without them ever since!
+
+But Margery remembers a good deal more (she is three years older than
+I am). She remembers things people said, and the funeral sermon, and
+the books being moved into the attic, and she remembers Grandmamma's
+quarrel with Dr. Brown.
+
+She says she was sitting behind the parlor curtains with Mrs.
+Trimmer's Roman History, and Grandmamma was sitting, looking very
+grave in her new black dress, with a pocket handkerchief and book in
+her lap, and sherry and sponge biscuits on a tray on the piano, for
+visitors of condolence, when Dr. Brown came in, looking very grave
+too, and took off one of his black gloves and shook hands. Then he
+took off the other, and put them both into his hat, and had a glass
+of sherry and a sponge biscuit, so Margery knew that he was a visitor
+of condolence.
+
+Then he and Grandmamma talked a long time. Margery does not know what
+about, for she was reading Mrs. Trimmer; but she thinks they were
+getting rather cross with each other. Then they got up, and Dr. Brown
+looked into his hat, and took out his gloves, and Grandmamma wiped her
+eyes with her pocket handkerchief, and said "I hope I know how to
+submit, but it has been a heavy judgment, Dr. Brown."
+
+And Margery was just beginning to cry too, when Dr. Brown said, "A
+very heavy judgment indeed, madam, for letting the cesspool leak into
+the well;" and it puzzled her so much that she stopped.
+
+Then Grandmamma was very angry, and Dr. Brown was angry too, and then
+Grandmamma said, "I don't know another respectable practitioner, Dr.
+Brown, who would have said what you have said this morning."
+
+And Dr. Brown brushed his hat the wrong way with his coat sleeve, and
+said, "Too true, madam! We are not a body of reformers, with all our
+opportunities; we're as bigoted as most priesthoods, but we count
+fewer missionary martyrs. The sins, the negligences, and the
+ignorances of every age have gone on much the same as far as we have
+been concerned, though very few people keep family chaplains, and
+most folk have a family doctor."
+
+Then Grandmamma got very stiff, Margery says (she always is rather
+stiff), and said, "I am sorry, Dr. Brown, to hear you speak so ill of
+the members of an honorable profession, to which you yourself belong."
+
+And Dr. Brown found out that he had brushed his hat the wrong way, and
+he brushed it right, and said, "Not at all, madam, not at all! I think
+we're a very decent set, for men with large public responsibilities,
+almost entirely shielded from the wholesome light of public criticism,
+who handle more lives than most Commanders, and are not called upon to
+publish our disasters or make returns of our losses. But don't expect
+too much of us! I say we are not reformers. They rise up amongst us
+now and again; but we don't encourage them, we don't encourage them.
+We are a privileged caste of medicine-men, whose 'mysteries' are
+protected by the faith of those to whom we minister, a faith fortified
+by ignorance and fear. I wish you Good morning, madam."
+
+Margery has often repeated this to me. We call it "Dr. Brown's
+Speeches." She is very fond of spouting speeches, much longer ones
+than Dr. Brown's. She learns them by heart out of history books, and
+then dresses up and spouts them to me in our attic.
+
+Margery says she did not understand at the time what they were
+quarrelling about; and when, afterwards, she asked Grandmamma what a
+cesspool was, Grandmamma was cross with her too, and said it was a
+very coarse and vulgar word, and that Dr. Brown was a very coarse and
+vulgar person. We've looked it out since in Johnson's Dictionary, for
+we thought it might be one of Dr. Brown's vulgar errors, but it is not
+there.
+
+Margery reads a great deal of history; she likes it; she likes all the
+sensible books in the attic, and I like the rest, particularly poetry
+and fairy tales.
+
+The books are mother's books, they belonged to her father. She liked
+having them all in the parlor, "littering the whole place," Jael says;
+but Grandmamma has moved them to the attic now, all but a volume of
+Sermons for Sunday, and the Oriental Annual, to amuse visitors if they
+are left alone. Only she says you never ought to leave your visitors
+alone.
+
+Jael is very glad the books were taken to the attic, because "they
+gather dust worse than chimney ornaments;" so she says.
+
+Margery and I are very glad too, for we are sent to play in the attic,
+and then we read as much as ever we like; and we move our pet books to
+our own corner and pretend they are our very own. We have very cosy
+corners; we pile up some of the big books for seats, and then make a
+bigger pile in front of us for tables, and there we sit.
+
+Once Dr. Brown found us. We had got whooping cough, and he had come
+to see if we were better; and he is very big, and he tramped so
+heavily on the stairs I did really think he was a burglar; and Margery
+was a little frightened too, so we were very glad to see him; and when
+he saw us reading at our tables, he said, "So this is the Attic salt
+ye season life with, is it?" And then he laughed just as he always
+does.
+
+There is one story in my favorite Fairy Book which Margery likes too;
+it is called "A Puzzling Tale." I read it to Margery when we were
+sitting in our tree seat in the garden, and I put my hand over the
+answer to the puzzle, and she could not guess; and if Margery could
+not guess, I do not think any one else could.
+
+This is the tale:--"Three women were once changed into flowers, and
+grew in a field: but one was permitted to go home at night. Once, when
+day was dawning, and she was about to return to her companions in the
+field and become a flower again, she said to her husband, 'In the
+morning come to the field and pick me off my stalk, then I shall be
+released, and able to live at home for the future.' So the husband
+went to the field as he was told, and picked his wife and took her
+home."
+
+"Now how did he know his wife's flower from the other two, for all the
+three flowers were alike?"
+
+(That is the Puzzle. This is the answer):
+
+"_He knew his wife because there was no dew upon her flower._"
+
+There is a very nice picture of the three flowers standing stiff and
+upright, with leaves held out like hands, and large round flower
+faces, all three exactly alike. I have looked at them again and again,
+but I never could see any difference; for you can't see the dew on the
+ones who had been out all night, and so you can't tell which was the
+one who was allowed to go home. But I think it was partly being so
+fond of those round flower faces in the Puzzling Tale, that made me
+get so very very fond of Sunflowers.
+
+We have splendid Sunflowers in our garden, so tall, and with such
+large round faces!
+
+The Sunflowers were in bloom when Margery went away. She bade them
+good bye, and kissed her hands to them as well as to me. She went away
+in a cab, with her things in the hair trunk with brass nails on the
+top. She waved her hand to me as long as ever I could see her, and she
+wagged one finger particularly. I knew which finger it was, and what
+she meant. It was the little finger with that dignotion on the nail,
+which showed that she had a journey to go.
+
+
+CHAPTER II.
+
+     "ON THE WING. SUNFLOWER SAINTS. DEW-DRENCHED. A BAD NIGHT. A BAD
+     HEADACHE. REGULAR REGIMEN IN GRANDMAMMA'S YOUNG DAYS. TIRED
+     NATURE'S SWEET RESTORER. A SINFUL WASTE OF CANDLE GREASE."
+
+
+The Sunflowers were in bloom when Margery went away; and the swallows
+were on the wing. The garden was full of them all the morning, and
+when she had gone, they went too. They had been restless for days
+past, so I dare say they had dignotions of their own, that they had a
+journey to go as well as Margery.
+
+But when they were gone, and she was gone, the garden felt very
+lonely. The Sunflowers stretched out their round faces just as if they
+were looking to see if the cab was coming back; and there was a robin,
+which kept hopping on and off the pump and peeping about with his
+eyes, as if he could not imagine what had become of all the swallows.
+
+And Margery's black cat came and mewed to me, and rubbed itself
+against my pinafore, and walked up and down with me till I went in and
+got the "Ancient Mariner" and my little chair, and came back and read
+to the Sunflowers.
+
+Sunflowers are quite as good as dolls to play with. Margery and I
+think them better in some ways. You can't move them about unless you
+pick them; but then they will stand of themselves, which dolls will
+not. You can give them names just as well, and you can teach them
+lessons just as well. They will grow, which dolls won't; and they
+really live and die, which dolls don't. In fact, for tallness, they
+are rather like grown up people. Then more come out, which is nice;
+and you see the little Sunflowers growing into big ones, which you
+can't see with dolls.
+
+We can play a Sunday game with the Sunflowers. We do not have any of
+our toys on Sunday, except in winter, when we have Noah's Ark. In the
+summer we may go in the garden between the services, and we always
+walk up and down together and play with the Sunflowers.
+
+The Sunday Sunflower game is calling them after the black-letter
+saints in the Kalendar, and reading about them in a very old book--a
+big one with a black leather binding--in the attic, called "Lives of
+the Saints." I read, and then I tell it to Margery as we walk up and
+down, and say--"This is S. Prisca, this is S. Fabian, this is S.
+Agnes, this is S. Agatha, and this is S. Valentine"--and so on.
+
+What made us first think of having them for Saints on Sunday, was that
+the yellow does sometimes look so very like a glory round their faces.
+We choose by turns which name to give to each, but if there is a very
+big one with a lot of yellow flaming out, we always called him S.
+George of England, because there is a very old figure of S. George
+slaying the Dragon, in a painted window in our Church; and S. George's
+hair is yellow, and standing out all round; and when the sun shines
+through the window, so that you can't see his nose and his mouth at
+all clearly, he looks quite wonderfully like a Sunflower. Then on week
+days, the game I like best, is pretending that they are women changed
+into flowers.
+
+They feel so grown up with being so tall, that they are much more like
+grown up people turned into flowers than like children. I pretend my
+doll is my child when I play with her; but I don't think I could
+pretend a Sunflower was my child; and sometimes if Margery leaves me
+alone with rather big Sunflowers, when it is getting dusk, and I look
+up at them, and they stare at me with their big faces in the twilight,
+I get so frightened for fear they should have got leave to go home at
+night, _and be just turning_, that I run indoors as hard as ever I
+can.
+
+Two or three times I have got up early and gone out to see if any one
+of them had no dew; but they have always been drenched, every one of
+them. Dew, thick over their brown faces, and rolling like tears down
+their yellow glories. I am quite sure that I have never seen a
+Sunflower yet, that had had leave to go home at night, and Margery
+says the same. And she is certain to know.
+
+I had a very bad night, the night after Margery went away. I was so
+terribly frightened with being alone in the dark. I know it was very
+silly, but it was most miserable. I was afraid to go and wake Jael,
+and I was more afraid of going to Grandmamma, and I was most of all
+afraid of staying where I was. It seemed to be years and years before
+the light began to come a little; and the noises left off creaking,
+and dropping, and cracking, and moving about.
+
+Next day I had a very bad headache. Jael does not like me when I have
+headaches, because I give trouble, and have to have hot water and
+mustard for my feet at odd times. Jael does not mind bringing up hot
+water at night; but she says she can't abide folk wanting things at
+odd times. So she does not like me when I have headaches; and when I
+have headaches, I do not much like her. She treads so very heavily, it
+shakes the floor just as ogres in ogre-stories shake the ground when
+they go out kidnapping; and then the pain jumps in my head till I get
+frightened, and wonder what happens to people when the pain gets so
+bad that they cannot bear it any longer.
+
+That morning, I thought I never should have got dressed; stooping and
+fastening things do make you so very bad. I was very late, and
+Grandmamma was beginning to scold me, but when she saw I had got a
+headache she didn't--she only said I looked like a washed-out pocket
+handkerchief; and when I could not eat any breakfast, she said I must
+have a dose of rhubarb and magnesia, and as she had not got any
+rhubarb left, she sent Jael up to Dr. Brown's to get some.
+
+I did not like having to take rhubarb and magnesia; but I was very
+glad to get rid of Jael for a bit, though I knew she would hate me for
+having had to take a message at an odd time. It was her shaking the
+room when she brought in the urn, and knocking the tongs into the
+fender with her dress as she went by, that had made me not able to eat
+any breakfast.
+
+Just as she was starting, Grandmamma beckoned to her to come back, and
+told her to call at the barber's, and tell him to come up in the
+afternoon to "thin" my hair.
+
+My hair is very thick. I brush as much out as I can; but I think it
+only gets thicker and thicker. Grandmamma says she believes that is
+what gives me so many headaches, and she says it is no use cutting it
+shorter, for it always is kept cut short; the only way is to thin it,
+that is, cutting lumps out here and there down to the roots. Thinning
+does make less of it; but when it grows again it is very difficult to
+keep tidy, which makes Jael say she "never see such a head, it's all
+odds and ends," and sometimes she adds--"inside _and_ out." Margery
+can imitate Jael exactly.
+
+When Jael came back, she said Dr. Brown would step down and see me
+himself. So he came.
+
+Then he felt my pulse and asked me what sort of a night I had had, and
+I was obliged to tell him, and Grandmamma was very much vexed, and
+made me tell the whole truth, and she said I did not deserve any pity
+for my headaches when I brought them on myself, which is true.
+
+I think it was being vexed with me that made her vexed with Dr. Brown,
+when he said rhubarb and magnesia would not do me any good. She said
+she liked a regular system with the health of young people; and when
+she and her six sisters were girls they were physicked with perfect
+regularity; they were bled in the spring, and the fall of the leaf;
+and had their hair thinned and their teeth taken out, once a quarter,
+by the advice of their excellent friend and local practitioner, who
+afterwards removed to London, and became very distinguished, and had
+his portrait painted in oils for one of the learned societies. And
+Grandmamma said she had been spared to survive all her family, and had
+never had a headache in her life.
+
+Though my head was so bad, I listened as hard as I could to hear what
+Dr. Brown would say. For I thought--"if he makes one of his speeches,
+they will quarrel, and he will leave off being our doctor again."
+
+But he didn't, he only said--"Well, well, madam, I'll send the child
+some medicine. Let her go and lie down at once, with a hot bottle to
+her feet, and as many pillows as she wants under her head; and don't
+let a sound reach her for the next three or four hours. When she
+wakes, give her a basin of bread and milk."
+
+So he went away, and presently he came back himself with the medicine.
+It tasted very nice, and he was very kind; only he made Jael so cross
+with saying she had not put boiling water in the hot bottle, and
+sending it down again; and then making her fetch more pillows out of
+the spare bedroom (Jael does not like odd things any more than odd
+times). But I never had such a hot bottle or such a comfortable
+headache before, and he pulled the blind down, and I went to sleep. At
+first I dreamt a little of the pain, and then I forgot it, and then
+slept like a top, for hours and hours.
+
+When I woke I found a basin of bread and milk, with a plate over it to
+keep it warm, on the rush-bottomed chair by the bed. It hadn't kept it
+very warm. It made me think of the suppers of the Three Bears in their
+three basins, and I daresay theirs were rather cold too. Perhaps their
+Jael boiled their bread and milk at her own time, whether they were
+ready for it or not.
+
+But I think mine must have been like the Little Bear's supper, for I
+ate it all up.
+
+My head was much better, so I went up to our attic, and got out the
+Fairy Book, that I might not think too much about Margery, and it
+opened of itself at the Puzzling Tale. I was just beginning to read
+it, when I heard a noise under the rafters, in one of those low sort
+of cupboard places that run all round the attic, where spare boxes and
+old things are kept, and where Margery and I sometimes play at Voyages
+of Discovery.
+
+I thought Margery's black cat must be shut up there, but when I went
+to look, there was another crash, and then the door burst open, and
+out came Jael, with her cap so crushed that I could not help laughing.
+
+I was glad to see her, for my head was well, so I liked her again, and
+did not mind her being ogre-footed, and I wanted to know what she was
+doing; but Jael had not got to like me again, and she spoke very
+crossly, and said it was more trouble of my giving, and that Dr. Brown
+had said that I was to have a light in my bedroom till Miss Margery
+came back--"if ever there was a sinful waste of candle-grease!" and
+that it wasn't likely the Mistress was going to throw away money on
+box night-lights; and she had sent the boy to the shop for
+half-a-dozen farthing rushlights--if they kept them, and if not, for
+half-a-pound of "sixteen" dips, and had sent her to the attic to find
+the old Rushlight-tin.
+
+"What's it like, Jael?"
+
+"It's like a Rushlight-tin, to be sure," said Jael. "And it's not been
+used since your Pa and Ma's last illness. So it's safe to be thick
+with dust, and a pretty job it is for me to have to do, losing the pin
+out of my cap, and tearing my apron on one of them old boxes, all to
+find a dirty old Rushlight, just because of _your_ whims and fancies,
+Miss Grace!"
+
+"Jael, I am so sorry for your cap and apron. I will go in and find the
+Rushlight for you. Tell me, is it painted black, with a lot of round
+holes in the sides, and a little door, and a place like a candlestick
+in the middle? If it is, I know where it is."
+
+I knew quite well. It was behind a very old portmanteau, and a tin box
+with a wig and moths in it, and the bottom part of the shower-bath,
+just at the corner, which Margery and I call Bass's Straits. So I made
+a Voyage of Discovery, and brought it out, "thick with dust," as Jael
+had said.
+
+And Jael took it, and went away very cross and very ogre-footed, with her
+cap still awry; and as she stumped down the attic-stairs, and kept
+clattering the Rushlight against the rails, I could hear her muttering--"A
+sinful waste of candle-grease--whims and fancies--scandilus!"
+
+
+CHAPTER III.
+
+     PAIN PAST. A REPRIEVE FROM THE BARBER. SUNFLOWER SLEEP. LITTLE
+     MICHAELMAS GOOSE. SNUFFING A RUSHLIGHT. A PURSUIT OF KNOWLEDGE
+     UNDER DIFFICULTIES. GRANDMAMMA WITH A WATCHMAN'S RATTLE.
+
+
+Jael's ogre-footsteps had hardly ceased to resound from the wooden
+stairs, when these shook again to the tread of Dr. Brown.
+
+He said--"How are you??" and I said--"Very happy, thank you," which
+was true. For the only nice thing about dreadful pain is that, when it
+is gone, you feel for a little bit as if you could cry with joy at
+having nothing to bear.
+
+Then I thanked him for asking Grandmamma to let me have the Rushlight
+till Margery came home; and he said I ought to be very much obliged to
+him, for he had begged me off the barber too. So I asked him if he
+thought my hair gave me headaches, and he felt it, and said--"No!"
+which I was very glad of. He said he thought it was more what I grew
+inside, than what I grew outside my head that did it, and that I was
+not to puzzle too much over books.
+
+I was afraid he meant the Puzzling Tale, so I told him it was very
+short, and the answer was given; so he said he should like to hear
+it--and I read it to him. He liked it very much, and he liked the
+picture; and I told him we thought they were Sunflowers, only that the
+glory-leaves were folded in so oddly, and we did not know why. And he
+said--"Why, because they're asleep, to be sure. Don't you know that
+flowers sleep as soundly as you do? _They_ don't lie awake in the
+dark!"
+
+And then he shook with laughing, till he shook the red into his face,
+and the tears into his eyes, as he always does.
+
+Dr. Brown must know a great deal about flowers, much more than I
+thought he did; I told him so, and he said, "Didn't think I looked as
+like a flower sprite as yourself, eh? 'Pon my word, I don't think I'm
+unlike one of your favorites. Tall, ye know, big beaming face, eh?
+There are people more unlike a Sunflower than Dr. Brown! Ha! ha! ha!"
+
+He laughed, he always does; but he told me quite delightful things
+about flowers: how they sleep, and breathe, and eat, and drink, and
+catch cold in draughts, and turn faint in the sun, and sometimes are
+all the better for a change ("like Miss Margery," so he said), and
+sometimes are home-sick and won't settle ("which I've a notion might
+be one of your follies, Miss Grace"), and turn pale and sickly in dark
+corners or stuffy rooms. But he never knew one that went home at
+night.
+
+Except for being too big for our chairs and tables, and for going
+voyages of discovery, I do think Dr. Brown would make a very nice
+person to play with; he seems to believe in fancy things, and he knows
+so much, and is so good-natured. He asked me what flower I thought
+Jael was like; and when I told him Margery could imitate her exactly,
+he said he must see that some day. I dared not tell him Margery can do
+him too, making his speeches in the shovel hat we found in an old hat
+box near Bass's Straits, and a pair of old black gloves of
+Grandmamma's.
+
+When he went away he patted my head, and said Margery and I must come
+to tea with him some day, and he would show us wonderful things in his
+microscope, and if we were very good, a plant that eats meat.
+
+"But most flowers thrive by 'eating the air,' as the Irish say, and
+you're one of 'em, Miss Grace. Do ye hear? You're not to bury yourself
+in this attic in the holidays. Run out in the garden, and play with
+your friends the Sunflowers, and remember what I've told you about
+their going to sleep and setting you a good example. It's as true as
+Gospel, and there's many a rough old gardener besides Dr. Brown will
+tell you that flowers gathered in the morning last longer than those
+gathered in the evening, because those are fresh after a night's nap,
+and these are tired and want to rest, and not to be taken into
+parlors, and kept awake with candles. Good bye, little Michaelmas
+Goose!" And away he went, clomping downstairs, but not a bit like
+Jael.
+
+When bedtime came I was a good deal tired; but after I got into bed I
+kept my candle alight for a time, hoping Jael would bring the
+Rushlight and put it on the floor near Margery's bed, as I had asked
+her to do. But after a while I had to put out my candle, for
+Grandmamma is rather particular about it, and then I was so sleepy I
+fell asleep. I was awakened by a noise and a sort of a flashing, and I
+thought it was thunder and lightning, but it was only Jael; she had
+come stumping in, and was flashing the Rushlight about before my eyes
+to see if I was asleep, and when she saw I was, she wanted to take it
+away again, but I begged and prayed, and then I said Grandmamma had
+promised, and she always keeps her promises, and I should go and ask
+her. So at last Jael set it down by Margery's bed, and went away more
+ogre-footed than ever; grumbling and growling about the waste of
+candle-grease. But I had got the Rushlight, so I didn't mind; I only
+hugged my knees, and laughed, and lay down again. And when I heard
+Jael go stumping upstairs, I knew that she had waited till her own
+bedtime to bring the Rushlight, and that was why it was late. And I
+thought to-morrow I would tell Grandmamma, for she promised, and she
+always performs. She does not spoil us, we know, but she is always
+fair. Jael isn't, always.
+
+A Rushlight is a very queer thing. It looked so grim as it stood by
+Margery's bed, in a little round of light; rather like a ruined castle
+in the middle of a lake in the moonshine. A castle with one big door,
+and a lot of round windows with the light coming through. They made
+big spots and patches of light all about the room. I could not shut my
+eyes for watching them, for they were not all the same shape, and they
+kept changing and moving; at last they got so faint, I was afraid the
+Rushlight was going out, so I jumped up and went to see, and I found
+there was a very big thief in the candle, so I got the snuffers out of
+my candlestick, and snuffed it, and got into bed again; and now there
+were beautiful big moons of light all over Margery's bed-valance.
+
+Thinking of the thief in the Rushlight made me think of a thief in a
+castle, and then of thieves getting into our house, and that if one
+got in at my window I could do nothing except scream for help, because
+Grandmamma keeps the Watchman's Rattle under her own pillow, and locks
+her bedroom door. And then I looked at my window, and saw a bit of
+light, and it made me quite cold, for I thought it was a burglar's
+lantern, till I saw it was the moon.
+
+Then I knew how silly I was, and I determined that I would not be such
+a coward. I determined I would not think of burglars, nor ghosts, nor
+even Margery.
+
+Margery and I are quite sure that we can think of things, and prevent
+ourselves thinking of things, by trying very hard. But it is rather
+difficult.
+
+I tried, and I did. I thought I would think of flowers, and of Dr.
+Brown, for he is very cheerful to think of. So I thought of
+Sunflowers, and how they eat the air, and go to sleep at night, and
+perhaps look like the three women in the Fairy Tale. And I thought I
+would always pick flowers in the morning now, and never at night, when
+they want to go to sleep and not to be woke up in a parlor with
+candles.
+
+And then I wondered: Would they wake with candles if they had begun to
+go to sleep? Would they wake with a jump, as I did, if Jael flashed
+the Rushlight in their faces? Would the moon wake them? Were they
+awake then, that very minute, like me, or asleep, as I was before Jael
+came in? Did they look like the picture in the Fairy Book, with their
+glory leaves folded over their faces? If I took a candle now, and held
+it before S. George of England, looking like that, would he wake with
+a start, and spread his glory leaves out all round, and stare at me,
+broad--wide awake?
+
+Then I thought how often I had gone out early, and wet my petticoats,
+to see if any of them had no dew on their faces, and that I had never
+gone out at night to see if they looked like the women in the Fairy
+Tale; and I wondered why I never had, and I supposed it was because I
+was silly, and perhaps afraid of going out in the dark.
+
+Then I remembered that it wasn't dark. There was a moon: besides my
+having a Rushlight.
+
+Then I wondered if I was very very silly, and why Dr. Brown had called
+me a Michaelmas Goose. But I remembered that it must be because
+to-morrow was the 29th of September.
+
+Then the stairs clock struck eleven.
+
+I counted all the strokes, and then I saw that the Rushlight was
+getting dim again, so I got up and snuffed it, and all the moons came
+out as bright as ever; but I did not feel in the least sleepy.
+
+I did not feel frightened any more. I only wished I knew for certain
+what Sunflowers look like when they are asleep, and whether you can
+wake them up with candles. And I went on wondering, and watching the
+moons.
+
+Then the stairs clock struck a quarter-past eleven, and I
+thought--"Oh, Grace! if you were not such a coward, if you had jumped
+up when the clock struck eleven, and slipped down the back stairs,
+with the Rushlight in your hands, and unlocked the side door, you
+might have run down the grass walk without hurting your feet, and
+flashed it in the faces of the Sunflowers, and had a good look, and
+got back to bed again before the clock struck a quarter-past; and
+then it would have been done, and couldn't be undone, and you would
+have known whether they look like the picture, and if they wake up
+with candles, and you never could have unknown. But now, you'll go on
+putting off, and being frightened about it, and perhaps to-morrow Jael
+will tell Grandmamma you were asleep, and she won't let you have a
+Rushlight any more, not even when you are a grown-up young lady; and
+even when you get married and go away, you may marry a man who won't
+let you have one; and so you may never know what you want to know, all
+because you're a Michaelmas Goose."
+
+Then the Rushlight began to get dim again, so I got up and snuffed it,
+and it shone out bright, and I thought "If it was Margery she would do
+it straight off. I won't be a Michaelmas Goose; I'll go while I'm up,
+and be back before the stairs clock strikes again, and then it will be
+done and can't be undone, and I shall know, and can't unknow."
+
+So I took up the Rushlight and went as fast as I could.
+
+I met a black beetle on the back stairs, which was horrid, but I went
+on. The side door key is very rusty and very stiff; I had to put down
+the Rushlight and use both my hands, and just then the clock struck
+the half-hour, which was rather a good thing, for it drowned the noise
+of the lock. It did not take me two minutes to run down the grass
+path, and there were the Sunflowers.
+
+I did it and it can't be undone, but I don't know what I wanted to
+know after all, for the moon was shining in their faces, so they may
+not have been really sound asleep. They are so tall, the Rushlight was
+too heavy for me to lift right up, so I opened the door and took out
+the candle, and flashed it in their faces. But they did not take as
+much notice as I expected. Their glory leaves looked rather narrow and
+tight, but they were not quite like the flower-women in the picture.
+
+Sunflowers are alive, I know; they look so different when they are
+dead. And I am sure they go to sleep, and wake up with candles, or Dr.
+Brown would not have said so. But it is rather a quiet kind of being
+alive and awake, I think. Something like Grandmamma, when she is very
+stiff on Sunday afternoon, and goes to sleep upright in a chair, and
+wakes up a little when her book drops. But not alive and awake like
+Margery's black cat, which must have heard me open the side door, and
+followed me without my seeing it. It did frighten me, with jumping out
+of the bushes, and looking at me with yellow eyes!
+
+Then I saw another eye. The eye of a moth, who was on one of the
+leaves. A most beautiful fellow! His colored wings were rather tight,
+like the Sunflower's glory leaves, but he was wide awake--watching
+the candle.
+
+I should have got back to bed quicker if it had not been for Margery's
+black cat and the night-moths. I wanted to get the cat into the house
+again, but she would not follow me, and the moths would; and I had
+such hard work to keep them out of the Rushlight.
+
+There was nothing to drown the noise the key made when I locked the
+side-door again, and when I got to the bottom of the back stairs, I
+saw a light at the top, and there was Grandmamma in the most awful
+night cap you can imagine, with a candle in one hand, and the
+watchman's rattle in the other.
+
+
+CHAPTER IV.
+
+     HEADS OFF! JAEL AND MASTER JOHN. FAREWELL. FRIEND IN NEED. A FREE
+     PARDON.
+
+
+The worst of it was, I caught such a very bad cold, I gave more
+trouble than ever; besides Grandmamma having rheumatism in her back
+with the draught up the back stairs, and nothing on but her night
+things and the watchman's rattle. I knew I deserved to be punished,
+but I did not think my punishment would have been such a terrible
+one.
+
+I hoped it might have been lessons, or even, perhaps, not having the
+Rushlight again, but I did not think Grandmamma would think of hurting
+the Sunflowers.
+
+She waited till I was well enough to go out, and I really began to
+think she was going to be kind enough to forgive me, with a free
+forgiveness. But that day she called me to her, and spoke very
+seriously, and said, that to punish me for my misconduct, and to try
+and cure me of the babyish nonsense I gave way to about things, she
+had decided to have all the Sunflowers destroyed at once, and not to
+have any seed sown for new ones, any more. The gardener was to do it
+next morning, and I was to be there to see. She hoped it would make me
+remember the occasion, and teach me better sense for the future.
+
+I should have begged and prayed, but it is no use begging and praying
+to Grandmamma; Jael attends more to that. There was no comfort
+anywhere, except in thinking that Margery would be at home in two
+days, and that I could pour out all my sorrow to her.
+
+As I went crying down the passage I met Jael.
+
+"What's the matter now?" said she.
+
+"Grandmamma's going to have all the Sunflowers killed," I sobbed. "Oh,
+I wish I'd never gone to look at them with the Rushlight!"
+
+"That's how it is," said Jael sagely, "folks always wishes they'd
+done different when it's too late. But don't sob your heart out that
+fashion, Miss Grace. Come into the pantry and I'll give you a bit of
+cake."
+
+"Thank you, dear Jael, you're very kind, but I don't think I _could_
+eat cake. Oh Jael, dear Jael! Do you think she would spare one, just
+one?"
+
+"That she wouldn't, Miss Grace, so you needn't trouble your head about
+it. When your Grandmamma's made up her mind, there's no one ever I saw
+can move her, unless it be Dr. Brown. Besides, the missus has never
+much mattered those Sunflowers. They were your mamma's fancy, and
+she'd as many whims as you have, and put your Grandmamma about a good
+deal. She was always at your papa to be doing this and that to the
+place 'Wasting good money' as your Grandmamma said. Your papa was a
+very easy gentleman. He wanted to please his wife, and he wanted to
+please his mother. Deary me! I remember his coming to me in this very
+pantry--I don't know if it would be more than three months afore they
+were both taken--and, standing there, as it might be you, Miss Grace,
+and saying--'Jael,' he says, 'this window looks out on the yard,' he
+says; 'do you ever smell anything, Jael? You are here a good deal.'
+'Master John,' I says, 'I thank my Maker, my nose never troubles me;
+but if it did' I says, 'I hope I know better than to set _my_self up
+to smell more than my neighbors.'--'To be sure, to be sure,' he says,
+looking round in a foolish kind of a way at the sink. Then he says,
+'Jael, do you ever taste anything in the water? My wife thinks there's
+something wrong with the well.' 'Master John,' I says, 'with all
+respect to your good lady, she disturbs her mind a deal too much with
+books. An ounce of ex-perience, I say, is worth a pound of book
+learning; and I'll tell you what my father said to them parties that
+goes round stirring up stinks, when they were for meddling with his
+farm yard. "Let wells alone," he says, "and muck heaps likewise." And
+my father passed three-score years and ten, Master John, and died
+where he was born.' Well-a-day! I see your poor Pa now. He stood and
+looked as puzzled as a bee in a bottle. Then he says--'Well, Jael, my
+wife says Sunflowers are good against fevers; and there's no harm in
+sowing some.' Which he did that very afternoon, she standing by him,
+with her hand on his shoulder; but, bless ye, my dear! they were took
+long before the seeds was up. Your mother was a pretty woman, I'll say
+that for her. You'd never have thought it, to look at her, that she
+was so fond of poking in dirty places."
+
+"Jael!" I said, "Mamma was right about the smells in the back yard.
+Margery and I hold our noses"--"you'd a deal better hold your
+tongues," interrupted Jael.
+
+"We do, Jael, we do, because I don't like mustard plasters on my
+throat, and when the back yard smells a good deal, my throat is always
+sore. But oh, Jael! If Sunflowers are good for smells, don't you think
+we might tell Grandmamma, and she would let us have them for that?"
+
+"She'll not, Miss Grace," said Jael, "so don't worry on. They're
+ragged things at the best, and all they're good for is to fatten
+fowls; and I shall tell Gardener he may cut their heads off and throw
+'em to the poultry, before he roots up the rest."
+
+I could not bear to hear her, so I went out to bid the Sunflowers good
+bye.
+
+I held their dear rough stems, rough with nice little white hairs, and
+I knew how easily their poor heads would cut off, there is so much
+pith inside the stems.
+
+I kissed all their dear faces one after another. They are very nice to
+kiss, especially in the sun, for then they smell honey-sweet, like
+blue Scabious, and lots of flowers that have not much scent, but only
+smell as if bees would like them. I kissed them once round for myself,
+and then once for Margery, for I knew how sorry she would be.
+
+And it was whilst I was holding S. George of England's face in my two
+hands, kissing him for Margery, that I saw the Dignotion on my middle
+finger nail.
+
+A Gift, a Beau, _A Friend!_--
+
+And then it flashed into my mind, all in a moment--"There can be no
+friend to me and the Sunflowers, except Dr. Brown, for Jael says he is
+the only person who ever changes Grandmamma's mind."
+
+I dawdled that night when I could not make up my mind about going out
+with the Rushlight, but I did not wait one minute now. I climbed over
+the garden wall into the road, and ran as hard as I could run up to
+the top of the hill, where lived a man--I mean where Dr. Brown lived.
+
+Now, I know that he is the kindest person that ever could be. I told
+him everything, and he asked particularly about my throat and the
+smells. Then he looked graver than I ever saw him, and said, "Listen,
+little woman; you must look out for spots on your little finger-nails.
+You're going away for a bit, till I've doctored these smells. Don't
+turn your eyes into saucers. Margery shall go with you; I wish I could
+turn ye both into flowers and plant ye out in a field for three
+months! but you are not to give me any trouble by turning home-sick,
+do you hear? I shall have trouble enough with Grandmamma, though I am
+joint guardian with her (your dear mother's doing, that!), and have
+some voice in the disposal of your fates. Now, if I save the
+Sunflowers, will you promise me not to cry to come home again till I
+send for you?"
+
+"Shall you be able to change her mind, to let us have Sunflowers sown
+for next year, too?
+
+"Yes!"
+
+"Then I promise."
+
+I could have danced for joy. The only thing that made me feel
+uncomfortable was having to tell Dr. Brown about the spot on my middle
+finger-nail. He would ask all about it, and so I let out about
+Johnson's Dictionary and the Dignotions, and Brown's Vulgar Errors,
+and I was afraid Margery would say I had been very silly, and let a
+cat out of a bag.
+
+I hope he was not vexed about his vulgar errors. He only laughed till
+he nearly tumbled off his chair.
+
+I never did have a spot on my journey-to-go nail, but we went away all
+the same; so I suppose Dignotions do not always tell true.
+
+When Grandmamma forgave me, and told me she would spare the Sunflowers
+this time, as Dr. Brown had begged them off, she said--"And Dr. Brown
+assures me, Grace, that when you are stronger you will have more
+sense. I am sure I hope he is right."
+
+I hope so, too!
+
+
+
+
+TINY'S TRICKS AND TOBY'S TRICKS.
+
+TINY.
+
+
+"Oh Toby, my dear old Toby, you portly and princely Pug!
+
+"You know it's bad for you to lie in the fender:--Father says that's
+what makes you so fat--and I want you to come and sit with me on the
+Kurdistan rug.
+
+"Put your lovely black nose in my lap, and I'll count your great
+velvet wrinkles, and comfort you with kisses.
+
+"If you'll only keep out of the fender--Father says you'll have a fit
+if you don't!--and give good advice to your poor Little Missis.
+
+"Father says you are the wisest creature he knows, and you are but
+eight years old, and three months ago I was six.
+
+"And yet mother says I'm the silliest little girl that she ever met
+with, because I am always picking up tricks.
+
+"She does not know where I learnt to stand on one leg (unless it was
+from a goose), but it has made one of my shoulders stick out more than
+the other.
+
+[Illustration: "YOU KNOW IT IS BAD FOR YOU TO LIE IN THE FENDER"]
+
+"It wasn't the goose who taught me to whistle up and down stairs. I
+learnt that last holidays from my brother.
+
+"The baker's man taught me to put my tongue in my cheek when I'm
+writing copies, for I saw him do it when he was receipting a bill.
+
+"And I learn't to wrinkle my forehead, and squeeze up my eyes, and
+make faces with my lips by imitating the strange doctor who attended
+us when we were ill.
+
+"It was Brother Jack himself who showed me that the way to squint is
+to look at both sides of your nose.
+
+"And then, Toby--would you believe it?--he turned round last holidays
+and said--'Look here, Tiny, if the wind changes when you're making
+that face it'll stay there, and remember you can't squint properly and
+keep your eye on the weathercock at the same time to see how it
+blows.'
+
+"But boys are so mean!--and I catch stammering from his school
+friend--'_Tut-tut-tut-tut-Tom_,' as we call him--but I soon leave it
+off when he goes.
+
+"I did not learn stooping and poking out my chin from any one; it came
+of itself. It is so hard to sit up; but mother says that much my worst
+trick.
+
+"Is biting my finger nails; and I've bitten them nearly all down to
+the quick.
+
+"She says if I don't lose these tricks, and leave off learning fresh
+ones, I shall never grow up like our pretty great-great-grandmamma.
+
+"Do you know her, dear Toby? I don't think you do. I don't think you
+ever look at pictures, intelligent as you are!
+
+"It's the big portrait, by Romney, of a beautiful lady, sitting
+beautifully up, with her beautiful hands lying in her lap.
+
+"Looking over her shoulder, out of lovely eyes, with a sweet smile on
+her lips, in the old brocade Mother keeps in the chest, and a pretty
+lace cap.
+
+"I should very much like to be like her when I grow up to that age;
+Mother says she was twenty-six.
+
+"And of course I know she would not have looked so nice in her picture
+if she'd squinted, and wrinkled her forehead, and had one shoulder
+out, and her tongue in her cheek, and a round back, and her chin
+poked, and her fingers all swollen with biting;--but, oh, Toby, you
+clever Pug! how am I to get rid of my tricks?
+
+"That is, if I must give them up; but it seems so hard to get into
+disgrace.
+
+"For doing what comes natural to one, with one's own eyes and legs,
+and fingers, and face."
+
+
+TOBY.
+
+"Remove your arms from my neck, Little Missis--I feel unusually
+apoplectic--and let me take two or three turns on the rug.
+
+"Whilst I turn the matter over in my mind, for never was there so
+puzzled a pug!
+
+"I am, as your respected Father truly observes, a most talented
+creature.
+
+"And as to fit subjects for family portraits and personal
+appearance--from the top of my massive brow to the tip of my curly
+tail, I believe myself to be perfect in every feature.
+
+"And when my ears are just joined over my forehead like a black velvet
+cap, I'm reckoned the living likeness of a late eminent divine and
+once popular preacher.
+
+"Did your great-great-grandmamma ever take a prize at a show? But let
+that pass--the real question is this:
+
+"How is it that what I am most highly commended for, should in your
+case be taken amiss?
+
+"Why am I reckoned the best and cleverest of dogs? Because I've picked
+up tricks so quickly ever since I was a pup.
+
+"And if I couldn't wrinkle my forehead and poke out my chin, and
+grimace at the judges, do you suppose I should ever have been--Class
+Pug. First Prize--Champion and Gold Cup?
+
+"We have one thing in common--I do _not_ find it easy to sit up.
+
+"But I learned it, and so will you. I can't imagine worse manners than
+to put one's tongue in one's cheek; as a rule, I hang mine gracefully
+out on one side.
+
+"And I've no doubt it's a mistake to gnaw your fingers. I gnawed a
+good deal in my puppyhood, but chewing my paws is a trick that I never
+tried.
+
+"How you stand on one leg I cannot imagine; with my figure it's all I
+can do to stand upon four.
+
+"I balance biscuit on my nose. Do you? I jump through a hoop (an
+atrocious trick, my dear, after one's first youth--and a full
+meal!)--I bark three cheers for the Queen, and I shut the dining-room
+door.
+
+"I lie flat on the floor at the word of command--In short, I've as
+many tricks as you have, and every one of them counts to my credit;
+
+"Whilst yours--so you say--only bring you into disgrace, which I could
+not have thought possible if you had not said it.
+
+"Indeed--but for the length of my experience and the solidity of my
+judgment--this would tempt me to think your mamma a very foolish
+person, and to advise you to disobey her; but I do _not_, Little
+Missis, for I know
+
+"That if you belong to good and kind people, it is well to let them
+train you up in the way in which they think you should go.
+
+"Your excellent parents trained me to tricks; and very senseless some
+of them seemed, I must say:
+
+"But I've lived to be proud of what I've been taught; and glad too
+that I learned to obey.
+
+"For, depend upon it, if you never do as you're told till you know the
+reason why, or till you find that you must;
+
+"You are much less of a Prize Pug than you might have been if you'd
+taken good government on trust."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+"Take me back to your arms, Little Missis, I feel cooler, and calmer
+in my mind.
+
+"Yes, there can be no doubt about it. You must do what your mother
+tells you, for you know that she's wise and kind.
+
+"You must take as much pains to _lose your_ tricks as I took to _learn
+mine_, long ago;
+
+"And we may all live to see you yet--'Class Young Lady. First Prize.
+Gold Medal--of a Show.'"
+
+
+TINY.
+
+"Oh, Toby, my dear old Toby, you wise and wonderful Pug!
+
+"Don't struggle off yet, stay on my knee for a bit, you'll be much
+hotter in the fender, and I want to give you a great, big hug.
+
+"What are you turning round and round for? you'll make yourself giddy,
+Toby. If you're looking for your tail, it is there, all right.
+
+"You can't see it for yourself because you're so fat, and because it
+is curled so tight.
+
+"I daresay you could play with it, like Kitty, when you were a pup,
+but it must be a long time now since you've seen it.
+
+"It's rather rude of you, Mr. Pug, to lie down with your back to me,
+and a grunt, but I know you don't mean it.
+
+"I wanted to hug you, Toby, because I do thank you for giving me such
+good advice, and I know every word of it's true.
+
+"I mean to try hard to follow it, and I'll tell you what I shall do.
+
+"Nurse wants to put bitter stuff on the tips of my fingers, to cure me
+of biting them, and now I think I shall let her.
+
+"I know they're not fit to be seen, but she says they would soon
+become better.
+
+"I mean to keep my hands behind my back a good deal till they're well,
+and to hold my head up, and turn out my toes; and every time I give
+way to one of my tricks, I shall go and stand (_on both legs_) before
+the picture, and confess it to great-great-grand-mamma.
+
+"Just fancy if I've no tricks left this time next year, Toby! Won't
+that show how clever we are?
+
+"I for trying so hard to do what I'm told, and you for being so wise
+that people will say--'That sensible pug cured that silly little girl
+when not even her mother could mend her.'
+
+"----Ah! Bad Dog! Where are you slinking off to?--Oh, Toby, darling!
+do, _do_ take a little of your own good advice, and try to cure
+yourself of lying in the fender!"
+
+
+
+
+THE OWL IN THE IVY BUSH.
+
+OR, THE CHILDREN'S BIRD OF WISDOM.
+
+INTRODUCTION.
+
+    "Hoot toots, man, yon's a queer bird!"
+
+--_Bonnie Scotland._
+
+
+I am an Owl; a very fluffy one, in spite of all that that Bad Boy
+pulled out! I live in an Ivy Bush. Children are nothing to me,
+naturally, so it seems strange that I should begin, at my time of
+life, to observe their little ways and their humors, and to give them
+good advice.
+
+And yet it is so. I am the Friend of Young People. In my flight abroad
+I watch them. As I sit meditating in my Ivy Bush, it is their little
+matters which I turn over in my fluffy head. I have established a
+letter box for their communications at the Hole in the Tree. No other
+address will find me.
+
+It is well known that I am a Bird of Wisdom. I am also an Observing
+Bird; and though my young friends may think I see less than I do,
+because of my blinking, and because I detest that vulgar glare of
+bright light without which some persons do not seem able to see what
+goes on around them, I would have children to know that if I can
+blink on occasion, and am not apt to let every starer read my counsel
+in my eyes, I am wide awake all the same. I am on the look-out when
+it's so dark that other folk can't see an inch before their noses, and
+(a word to the foolish and naughty!) I can see what is doing behind my
+back. And Wiseacre, Observer, and Wide-awake--I am the Children's Owl.
+
+Before I open my mouth on their little affairs, before even I open my
+letters (if there are any waiting for me) I will explain how it came
+about that I am the Children's Owl.
+
+It is all owing to that little girl; the one with the fluffy hair and
+the wise eyes. As an Observer I have noticed that not only I, but
+other people, seem to do what she wants, and as a Wiseacre I have
+reflected upon it as strange, because her temper is as soft and fluffy
+as her hair (which mine is not), and she always seems ready to give
+way to others (which is never my case--if I can help it). On the
+occasion I am about to speak of, I could _not_ help it.
+
+It was last summer that that Bad Boy caught me, and squeezed me into a
+wicker cage. Little did I think I should ever live to be so poked out,
+and rummaged, and torn to shreds by such a thing as a boy! I bit him,
+but he got me into the cage and put a cloth over it. Then he took me
+to his father, who took me to the front door of the house, where he is
+coachman and gardener, and asked for Little Miss to come out and see
+the new pet Tom had caught for her.
+
+"It's a nasty tempered brute, but she's such a one for taming things,"
+said the coachman, whipping off the cloth to show me to the housemaid,
+and letting in a glare of light that irritated me to frenzy. I flew at
+the housemaid, and she flew into the house. Then I rolled over and
+growled and hissed under my beak, and tried to hide my eyes in my
+feathers.
+
+"Little Miss won't tame me," I muttered.
+
+She did not try long. When she heard of me she came running out, the
+wind blowing her fluffy hair about her face, and the sun shining on
+it. Fluffed out by the wind, and changing color in the light and
+shade, the hair down her back is not entirely unlike the feathers of
+my own, though less sober perhaps in its tints. Like mine it makes a
+small head look large, and as she has big wise eyes, I have seen
+creatures less like an owl than Little Miss. Her voice is not so
+hoarse as mine. It is clear and soft, as I heard when she spoke:
+
+"Oh, _how_ good of you! And how good of Tom! I do so love owls. I
+always get Mary to put the silver owl by me at luncheon, though I am
+not allowed to eat pepper. And I have a brown owl, a china one,
+sitting on a book for a letter weight. He came from Germany. And
+Captain Barton gave me an owl pencil-case on my birthday, because I
+liked hearing about his real owl, but, oh, I never hoped I should
+have a real owl of my own. It _was_ kind of Tom."
+
+To hear that Bad Boy called kind was too much for endurance, and I let
+them see how savage I felt. If the wicker work had not been very
+strong the cage would not have held me.
+
+"He's a tartar," said the coachman.
+
+"Oh, no, Williams!" said Little Miss, "he's only frightened by the
+light. Give me the cloth, please."
+
+"Take care, Miss. He'll bite you," cried the coachman, as she put the
+cloth over the cage, and then over her own head.
+
+"No, he won't! I don't mind his snapping and hissing. I want him to
+see me, and know me. Then perhaps he'll get to like me, and be tame,
+and sit on the nursery clock and look wise. Captain Barton's owl used
+to sit on his clock. Poor fellow! Dear old owlie! Don't growl, my owl.
+Can you hoot, darling? I should like to hear you hoot."
+
+Sometimes as I sit in my ivy bush, and the moon shines on the spiders'
+webs and reminds me of the threads of her hair, on a mild, sleepy
+night, if there's nothing stirring but the ivy boughs; sitting, I say,
+blinking between a dream and a doze, I fancy I see her face close to
+mine, as it was that day with the wicker work between. Our eyes
+looking at each other, and our fluffiness mixed up by the wind. Then I
+try to remember all the kind things she said to me to coax me to
+leave my ivy bush, and go to live on the nursery clock. But I can't
+remember half. I was in such a rage at the time, and when you are in a
+rage you miss a good deal, and forget a good deal.
+
+I know that at last she left off talking to me, and I could see her
+wise eyes swimming in tears. Then she left me alone under the cloth.
+
+"Well, Miss," said the coachman, "you don't make much of him, do ye?
+He's a Tartar, Miss, I'm afraid."
+
+"I think, Williams, that he's too old. Captain Barton's owl was a
+little owlet when he first got him. I shall never tame this one,
+Williams, and I never was so disappointed in all my life. Captain
+Barton said he kept an owl to keep himself good and wise, because
+nobody could be foolish in the face of an owl sitting on his clock. He
+says both his godfathers are dead, and he has taken his owl for his
+godfather. These are his jokes, Williams, but I had set my heart on
+having an owl on the nursery clock. I do think I have never wished so
+much for anything in the world as that Tom's owl would be our Bird of
+Wisdom. But he never will. He will never let me tame him. He wants to
+be a wild owl all his life. I love him very much, and I should like
+him to have what he wants, and not be miserable. Please thank Tom very
+much, and please ask him to let him go."
+
+"I'm sorry I brought him, Miss, to trouble you," said the coachman.
+"But Tom won't let him go. He'd a lot of trouble catching him, and if
+he's no good to you, Tom'll be glad of him to stuff. He's got some
+glass eyes out of a stuffed fox the moths ate, and he's bent on
+stuffing an owl, is Tom. The eyes would be too big for a pheasant, but
+they'll look well enough in an owl, he thinks."
+
+My hearing is very acute, and not a word of that Bad Boy's brutal
+intentions was lost on me. I shrunk among my feathers and shivered
+with despair; but when I heard the voice of Little Miss I rounded my
+ear once more.
+
+"No, Williams, no! He must not be stuffed. Oh, please beg Tom to come
+to me. Perhaps I can give him something to persuade him not. If he
+must stuff an owl, please, please let him stuff a strange owl. One I
+haven't made friends with. Not this one. He is very wild, but he is
+very lovely and soft, and I do so want him to be let go."
+
+"Well, Miss, I'll send Tom and you can settle it with him. All I say,
+he's a Tartar, and stuffing's too good for him."
+
+Whether she bribed Tom, or persuaded him, I don't know, but Little
+Miss got her way, and that Bad Boy let me go, and I went back to my
+Ivy Bush.
+
+
+OWLHOOT I.
+
+    "What can't be cured must be endured."
+
+--_Old Proverb._
+
+
+It was the wish to see Little Miss once more that led my wings past
+her nursery window; besides, I had a curiosity to look at the clock.
+
+It is an eight-day clock, in a handsome case, and would, undoubtedly,
+have been a becoming perch for a bird of my dignified appearance, but
+I will not describe it to-day. Nor will I speak of my meditations as I
+sit in my Ivy Bush like any other common owl, and reflect that if I
+had not had my own way, but had listened to Little Miss, I might have
+sat on an Eight-day Clock, and been godfather to the children. It is
+not seemly for an owl to doubt his own wisdom, but as I have taken
+upon me, for the sake of Little Miss, to be a child's counsellor, I
+will just observe, in passing, that though it is very satisfactory at
+the time to get your own way, you may live to wish that you had taken
+other folk's advice instead.
+
+From that nursery I have taken flight to others. I sail by the
+windows, and throw a searching eye through these bars which are, I
+believe, placed there to keep top-heavy babies from tumbling out.
+Sometimes I peer down the chimney. From the nook of a wall or the
+hollow of a tree, I overlook the children's gardens and playgrounds. I
+have an eye to several schools, and I fancy (though I may be wrong)
+that I should look well seated on the top of an easel--just above the
+black-board, with a piece of chalk in my feathery foot.
+
+Not that I have any notion of playing schoolmaster, or even of
+advising schoolmasters and parents how to make their children good and
+wise. I am the Children's Owl--their very own--and all my good advice
+is intended to help them to improve themselves.
+
+It is wonderful how children _do_ sometimes improve! I knew a fine
+little fellow, much made of by his family and friends, who used to be
+so peevish about all the little ups and downs of life, and had such a
+lamentable whine in his voice when he was thwarted in any trifle, that
+if you had heard without seeing him, you'd have sworn that the most
+miserable wretch in the world was bewailing the worst of catastrophes
+with failing breath. And all the while there was not a handsomer,
+healthier, better fed, better bred, better dressed, and more dearly
+loved, little boy in all the parish. When you might have thought, by
+the sound of it, that some starving skeleton of a creature was moaning
+for a bit of bread, the young gentleman was only sobbing through the
+soap and lifting his voice above the towels, because Nurse would wash
+his fair and rosy cheeks. And when cries like those of one vanquished
+in battle and begging and praying for his life, rang through the hall
+and up the front stairs, it proved to be nothing worse than Master
+Jack imploring his friends to "_please, please_," and "_do, do_," let
+him stay out to run in a final "go as you please" race with the young
+Browns (who dine a quarter of an hour later), instead of going in
+promptly when the gong sounded for luncheon.
+
+Now the other day I peeped into a bedroom of that little boy's home.
+The sun was up, and so was Jack, but one of his numerous Aunts was
+not. She was in bed with a headache, and to this her pale face, her
+eyes shunning the light like my own, and her hair restlessly tossed
+over the pillow bore witness. When a knock came on the bedroom door,
+she started with pain, but lay down again and cried--"Come in!"
+
+The door opened, but no one came in; and outside the voices of the
+little boy and his nurse were audible.
+
+"I want to show her my new coat."
+
+"You can't, Master Jack. Your Aunt's got a dreadful headache, and
+can't be disturbed."
+
+No peevish complaints from Jack: only a deep sigh.
+
+"I'm very sorry about her headache; and I'm very very sorry about my
+coat. For I am going out, and it will never be so new again."
+
+His aunt spoke feebly.
+
+"Nurse, I must see his coat. Let him come in."
+
+Enter Jack.
+
+It was his first manly suit, and he was trying hard for a manly soul
+beneath it, as a brave boy should. He came in very gently, but with
+conscious pride glowing in his rosy cheeks and out of his shining
+eyes. His cheeks were very red, for a step in life is a warming thing,
+and so is a cloth suit when you've been used to frocks.
+
+It was a bottle-green coat, with large mother-o'-pearl buttons and
+three coachman's capes; and there were leggings to match. The beaver
+hat, too, was new, and becomingly cocked, as he stood by his Aunt's
+bedside and smiled.
+
+"What a fine coat, Jack!"
+
+"Made by a tailor, Auntie Julie. Real pockets!"
+
+"You don't say so!"
+
+He nodded.
+
+"Leggings too!" and he stuck up one leg at a sudden right angle on to
+the bed; a rash proceeding, but the boy has a straight little figure,
+and with a hop or two he kept his balance.
+
+"My dear Jack, they are grand. How warm they must keep your legs!"
+
+He shook his beaver hat.
+
+"No. They only tickles. That's what they do."
+
+There was a pause. His Aunt remembered the old peevish ways. She did
+not want to encourage him to discard his winter leggings, and was
+doubtful what to say. But in a moment more his eyes shone, and his
+face took that effulgent expression which some children have when they
+are resolved upon being good.
+
+"--_and as I can't shake off the tickle, I have to bear it_," added
+the little gentleman.
+
+I call him the little gentleman advisedly. There is no stronger sign
+of high breeding in young people, than a cheerful endurance of the
+rubs of life. A temper that fits one's fate, a spirit that rises with
+the occasion. It is this kind of courage which the Gentlemen of
+England have shown from time immemorial, through peace and war, by
+land and sea, in every country and climate of the habitable globe.
+Jack is a child of that Empire on which the sun never sets, and if he
+live he is like to have larger opportunities of bearing discomfort
+than was afforded by the wooly worry of his bottle-green leggings. I
+am in good hopes that he will not be found wanting.
+
+Some such thoughts, I believe, occurred to his Aunt.
+
+"That's right, Jack. What a man you are!"
+
+The rosy cheeks became carmine, and Jack flung himself upon his Aunt,
+and kissed her with resounding smacks.
+
+A somewhat wrecked appearance which she presented after this
+boisterous hug, recalled the headache to his mind, and as he settled
+the beaver hat, which had gone astray, he said ruefully--
+
+"Is your headache _very_ bad, Auntie Julie!"
+
+"Rather bad, Jack. _And as I can't shake it off, I have to bear it._"
+
+He went away on tiptoe, and it was only after he had carefully and
+gently closed the bedroom door behind him, that he departed by leaps
+and bounds to show himself in his bottle-green coat and capes, and
+white buttons and leggings to match, and beaver hat to boot, first to
+the young Browns, and after that to the General Public.
+
+As an Observer, I may say that it was a sight worth seeing; and as a
+Bird of some wisdom, I prophesy well of that boy.
+
+
+OWLHOOT II.
+
+    "Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling."
+
+--_The Raven._
+
+    "Taffy was a thief."--_Old Song._
+
+
+I find the following letters at the Hole in the Tree.
+
+"X LINES, SOUTH CAMP, ALDERSHOT.
+
+"SIR,--You speak with great feeling of that elevated position (I
+allude, of course, to the top of the eight-day clock), which
+circumstances led you somewhat hastily to decline. It would
+undoubtedly have become you, and less cannot be said for such a
+situation as the summit of an easel, overlooking the black-board, in
+an establishment for the education of youth. Meanwhile it may interest
+you to hear of a bird (not of your wisdom, but with parts, and a
+respectable appearance) who secured a somewhat similar seat in
+adopting that kind of home which you would not. It was in driving
+through a wood at some little distance from the above address that we
+found a wounded crow, and brought him home to our hut. He became a
+member of the family, and received the name of Slyboots, for reasons
+with which it is unnecessary to trouble you. He was made very welcome
+in the drawing-room, but he preferred the kitchen. The kitchen is a
+brick room detached from the wooden hut. It was once, in fact, an
+armorer's shop, and has since been converted to a kitchen. The floor
+is rudely laid, and the bricks gape here and there. A barrack fender
+guards the fire-place, and a barrack poker reposes in the fender. It
+is a very ponderous poker of unusual size and the commonest
+appearance, but with a massive knob at the upper end which was wont to
+project far and high above the hearth. It was to this seat that
+Slyboots elevated himself by his own choice, and became the Kitchen
+Crow. Here he spent hours watching the cook, and taking tit-bits
+behind her back. He ate what he could (more, I fear, than he ought),
+and hid the rest in holes and corners. The genial neighborhood of the
+oven caused him no inconvenience. His glossy coat, being already as
+black as a coal, was not damaged by a certain grimeyness which is
+undoubtedly characteristic of the (late) armorer's shop, of which the
+chimney is an inveterate smoker. Companies of his relatives constantly
+enter the camp by ways over which the sentries have no control (the
+Balloon Brigade being not yet even in the clouds); but Slyboots showed
+no disposition to join them. They flaunt and forage in the Lines, they
+inspect the ashpits and cookhouses, they wheel and manoeuvre on the
+parades, but Slyboots sat serene upon his poker. He had a cook-house
+all to himself.... He died. We must all die; but we need not all die
+of repletion, which, I fear, was his case. He buried his last meal
+between two bricks in the kitchen floor, and covered it very tidily
+with a bit of newspaper. The poker is vacant. Sir, I was bred to the
+sword and not to the pen, but I have a foolish desire for literary
+fame. I should be better pleased to be in print than to be
+promoted--for that matter one seems as near as the other--and my wife
+agrees with me. She is of a literary turn, and has helped me in the
+composition of this, but we both fear that the story having no moral
+you will not admit it into your Owlhoots. But if your wisdom could
+supply this, or your kindness overlook the defect, it would afford
+great consolation to a bereaved family to have printed a biography of
+the dear deceased. For we were greatly attached to him, though he
+preferred the cook. I can at any rate give you my word as a man of
+honor that these incidents are true, though, out of soldierly modesty,
+I will not trouble you with my name, but with much respect subscribe
+myself by that of
+
+SLYBOOTS."
+
+The gallant officer is too modest. This biography is not only true but
+brief, and these are rare merits in a memoir. As to the moral--it is
+not far to seek. Dear children, for whom I hoot! avoid greediness. If
+Slyboots had eaten tit-bits in moderation, he might be sitting on the
+poker to this day. I have great pleasure in making his brief career
+public to the satisfaction of his gallant friend, and I should be glad
+to hear that the latter had got his step by the same post as his
+Owlhoot.
+
+The second letter is much farther from literary excellence than the
+first. I fear this little boy plays truant from school as well as
+taking apples which do not belong to him. It is high time that he
+learnt to spell, and also to observe the difference between _meum_ and
+_tuum_. From not being well grounded on these two points, many boys
+have lost good situations in life when they grew up to be men.
+
+"deer mister howl,--as you say you see behind your bak i spose its
+you told varmer jones of me for theres a tree with a whole in it just
+behind the orchurd he wolloped I shameful and I'll have no more of his
+apples they be a deal sowerer than yud think though they look so red,
+but do you call yourself a childerns friend and tell tails i dont i
+can tell you.
+
+TOM TURNIP."
+
+     [PUBLISHER'S NOTE. Mrs. Ewing did not live to complete "The Owl
+     in the Ivy Bush." This, and "Tiny's Tricks and Toby's Tricks"
+     were first published after her death.]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+_Roberts Brothers Juvenile Books._
+
+DEAR DAUGHTER DOROTHY.
+
+_BY MISS A. G. PLYMPTON._
+
+With seven illustrations by the author. Small 4to. Cloth.
+
+PRICE, $1.00.
+
+[Illustration: DEAR DAUGHTER DOROTHY.]
+
+     "The child is father of the man,"--so Wordsworth sang; and here
+     is a jolly story of a little girl who was her father's mother in
+     a very real way. There were hard lines for him; and she was
+     fruitful of devices to help him along, even having an auction of
+     the pretty things that had been given her from time to time, and
+     realizing a neat little sum. Then her father was accused of
+     peculation; and she, sweetly ignorant of the ways of justice,
+     went to the judge and labored with him, to no effect, though he
+     was wondrous kind. Then in court she gave just the wrong
+     evidence, because it showed how poor her father was, and so
+     established a presumption of his great necessity and desperation.
+     But the _Deus ex machina_--the wicked partner--arrived at the
+     right moment, and owned up, and the good father was cleared, and
+     little Daughter Dorothy was made glad. But this meagre summary
+     gives but a poor idea of the ins and outs of this charming story,
+     and no idea of the happy way in which it is told.--_Christian
+     Register._
+
+ROBERTS BROTHERS, Boston.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+LOUISA M. ALCOTT'S WRITINGS.
+
+_Miss Alcott is really a benefactor of households_--H H
+
+_Miss Alcott has a faculty of entering into the lives and
+feelings of children that is conspicuously wanting in most
+writers who address them, and to this cause, to the consciousness
+among her readers that they are hearing about people like
+themselves, instead of abstract qualities labelled with names,
+the popularity of her books is due_--MRS SARAH J HALE
+
+_Dear Aunt Jo! You are embalmed in the thoughts and loves of
+thousands of little men and women_--EXCHANGE
+
+Little Women, or Meg, Jo, Beth, and Amy With
+illustrations 16mo                                                  $1.50
+
+Hospital Sketches, and Camp and Fireside Stories With
+illustrations 16mo                                                   1.50
+
+An Old-Fashioned Girl With illustrations 16mo                        1.50
+
+Little Men Life at Plumfield with Jo's Boys With
+illustrations 16mo                                                   1.50
+
+Jo's Boys and How they Turned Out A sequel to Little Men
+With portrait of Aunt Jo 16mo                                        1.50
+
+Eight Cousins, or The Aunt Hill With illustrations 16mo              1.50
+
+Rose in Bloom A sequel to Eight Cousins 16mo                         1.50
+
+Under the Lilacs With illustrations 16mo                             1.50
+
+Jack and Jill A Village Story With illustrations 16mo                1.50
+
+Work A Story of Experience With character illustrations by
+Sol Eytinge 16mo                                                     1.50
+
+Moods A Novel New edition revised and enlarged 16mo                  1.50
+
+A Modern Mephistopheles, and A Whisper in the Dark 16mo              1.50
+
+Silver Pitchers, and Independence A Centennial Love Story
+16mo                                                                 1.25
+
+Proverb Stories New edition, revised and enlarged 16mo               1.25
+
+Spinning Wheel Stories With illustrations 16mo                       1.25
+
+A Garland for Girls and Other Stories With illustrations
+16mo                                                                 1.25
+
+My Boys &c First volume of Aunt Jo's Scrap Bag 16mo                 $1.00
+
+Shawl-Straps Second volume of Aunt Jo's Scrap Bag 16mo               1.00
+
+Cupid and Chow-Chow, &c Third volume of Aunt Jo's Scrap Bag
+16mo                                                                 1.00
+
+My Girls, &c Fourth volume of Aunt Jo's Scrap Bag 16mo               1.00
+
+Jimmy's Cruise in the Pinafore, &c Fifth volume of Aunt Jo's
+Scrap Bag 16mo                                                       1.00
+
+An Old-Fashioned Thanksgiving, &c Sixth volume of Aunt Jo's
+Scrap Bag 16mo                                                       1.00
+
+Little Women Illustrated Embellished with nearly 200
+characteristic illustrations from original designs drawn
+expressly for this edition of this noted American Classic
+One small quarto bound in cloth with emblematic designs              2.50
+
+Little Women Series Comprising Little Women Little Men Eight
+Cousins Under the Lilacs An Old Fashioned Girl Jo's Boys Rose in
+Bloom Jack and Jill 8 large 16mo volumes in a handsome box          12.00
+
+Miss Alcott's novels in uniform binding in sets Moods Work
+Hospital Sketches A Modern Mephistopheles and A Whisper in
+the Dark 4 volumes 16mo                                              6.00
+
+Lulu's Library Vols I II III A collection of New Stories
+16mo                                                                 1.00
+
+
+_These books are for sale at all bookstores, or will be mailed, post
+paid, on receipt of price, to any address_
+
+ROBERTS BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS,
+
+_Boston, Mass._
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Last Words, by Juliana Horatia Ewing
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