ONE warm morning in June, just as the sun returned from his long butrapid journey to the distant east, and sailed majestically upthrough the clear blue sky, the many bright flowers of one of theprettiest little parterres in the world, who had opened theireyes--those bright flowers--to smile at the sunbeams which came tokiss away the tears night had shed over them, were very muchsurprised, and not a little offended to find in their very midst anindividual who, though most of them knew her, one might havesupposed, from their appearance, was a perfect stranger to them all.
The parterre, I have said, was small, for it was in the very heartof a great city, where land would bring almost any price; but thegentleman and lady who lived in the noble mansion which fronted it,would not, for the highest price which might have been offered them,have had those sweet flowers torn up, and a brick pile reared in theplace--their only child, the dear little Carie, loved the garden sodearly, and spent so much of her time there.
Oh, it was a sweet little place, though it was in the midst of agreat city where the air was full of dust and coal smoke; for thefountain which played in the garden kept the atmosphere pure andcool, and every day the gardener showered all the plants so thattheir leaves were green and fresh as though they were blooming faraway in their native woods and dells. There were sweet roses ofevery hue, from the pure Alba to the dark Damascus; and pinks, someof the most spicy odour, some almost scentless, but all so beautifuland so nicely trimmed. The changeless amaranth was there, the pale,sweet-scented heliotrope, always looking towards the sun; the purelily; and the blue violet, which, though it had been taught to bloomfar away from the mossy bed where it had first opened its meek eyeto the light, had not yet forgotten its gentleness and modesty; andnot far from them were the fickle hydrangea, the cardinal flowerwith its rich, showy petals, and the proud, vain, and ostentatious,but beautiful crimson and white peonias. The dahlias had yet putforth but very few blossoms, but they were elegant, and the swellingbuds promised that ere long there would be a rich display ofbrilliant colours. Honeysuckles, the bright-hued and fragrant, thewhite jasmine, and many other climbing plants, were latticing thelittle arbour beside the clear fountain, half hiding theirjewel-like pensile blossoms and bright red berries among the smoothgreen leaves which clustered so closely together as to shut outcompletely the hot sun from the little gay-plumaged and sweet-voicedsongsters whose gilt cage hung within the bower. But I cannot speakof the flowers, there were so many of them, and they were all sobeautiful and so sweet-scented.
Well, this June morning, as I was saying, when the flowers, as theywere waked from their sleep by the sunbeams which came to kiss awaythe tears night had shed over them, opened their eyes and lookedabout them, they were surprised and offended to see a stranger intheir company.
There had been, through all the season, some little rivalries andjealousies among the flowers; but from the glances which they turnedon each other, this morning, it was evident that their feelingstowards the stranger were exactly alike. However, as might beexpected from their different dispositions, they expressed theirdislike and contempt for her in different ways; but at first allhesitated to address her, for no one seemed to find language strongenough to express the scorn they felt for her; until the balsam, whonever could keep silent long, inquired of the stranger, in a veryimpatient tone, what was her name, and how she came there.
The poor thing hesitated an instant, and her face grew very red; shemust have known that her presence in that company was very muchundesired, and when she spoke, it was in a low and embarrassed tone.
"My name is Papaver, and--"
But the Marygold laughed aloud. "Papaver!" she repeated in her mostscornful tone; "she is nothing more nor less than a Poppy--a greatoffensive Poppy, whose breath fairly makes me sick. Long ago,when--"
But here the Marygold stopped short, it would not do, to confess toher genteel friends, that she had formerly been acquainted with thedisreputable stranger. They did not heed her embarrassment, however,for every one, now that the silence was broken, was anxious tospeak; all but the Mimosa, who could not utter a word, for she hadfainted quite away--the red Rose who was very diffident, and theDahlia who was too dignified to meddle with such trifling affairs.
"You great, red-faced thing!" said the Carnation, "how came you herein your ragged dress? Do you know what kind of company you are in?Who first saw her here?"
"I saw her," said the Morning Glory, who usually waked quite early,"I saw her before she had got her eyes open; and what do you supposeshe had on her head? Why a little green cap which she has justpulled off and thrown away. There it lies on the ground now. Onlylook at it! no wonder she was ashamed of it. Can you think what shewore it for?"
"Why, yes!" said the Ladies' Slipper. "She is so handsome and sodelicate that she was fearful the early hours might injure herhealth and destroy her charms!"
"No, no!" interrupted another; "she was afraid the morning breezemight steal away her sweet breath!"
"You had better gather up your sweet leaves, and put on your capagain," said the London Pride. "I see a golden-winged butterfly inCalla's cup; your spicy breath will soon bring him here to drink ofyour nectar!"
The most of the flowers laughed, but the Carnation still calledout--"How came she here?"
The Amaranth, however, who never slept a wink through the wholenight, would not answer the question, though the flowers werecertain that she could, were she so inclined.
"I do not see how you who are in her immediate neighbourhood, canbreathe!" said the Syringa, who was farthest removed from the poorPoppy.
"I do feel as if I should faint!" said the Verbena.
"And I feel a cold chill creeping over me!" said the Ice Plant.
"That is not strange!" remarked the Nightshade, who had sprung up inthe shadow of the hedge, "she carries with her, everywhere she goes,the atmosphere of the place whence she comes. Do you know where thatis?"
Some of the flowers shuddered, but the Nightshade went on:--
"The Poppy is indigenous now only on the verdureless banks of theStyx. When Proserpine, who was gathering flowers, was carried awayto the dark Avernus, all the other blossoms which she had woven inher garland withered and died, but the Poppy; and that the goddessplanted in the land of darkness and gloom, and called it the flowerof Death. She flourishes there in great luxuriance; Nox and Somnusmake her bed their couch. The aching head, which is bound with agarland of her blossoms, ceases to throb; the agonized soul whichdrinks in her deep breath, wakes no more to sorrow. Death followswherever she comes!"
"We will not talk of such gloomy things!" said the Coreopsis, withdifficulty preserving her cheerfulness.
But the other plants were silent and dejected; all but the Amaranth,who knew herself gifted with immortality, and the Box, who was verystoical. But another trial awaited the poor Poppy.
The Nightshade had hardly ceased speaking, when soft, gentle humanvoices were heard in the garden, and a child of three summers, withrosy cheeks, deep blue eyes, and flowing, golden hair, came boundingdown the gravelled walks, followed by a fair lady. The child hadcome to bid good morning to her flowers and birds, and as shecarolled to the latter, and paused now and then to inhale the breathof some fragrant blossom, and examine the elegant form and rich andvaried tints of another, the little songsters sang more loudly andcheerily; and the flowers, it seemed, became more sweet andbeautiful.
The Poppy, who was as ignorant as was any one else how she had foundher way into the garden, now began to reason with herself.
"Some one must have planted me here," she said; "and though I am notas sweet as that proud Carnation, nor so elegant as that dignifiedDahlia, I may have as much right to remain here as they!" and sheraised her head erect, and spread out her broad, scarlet petals,with their deep, ragged fringe, hoping to attract the notice of thelittle girl.
And so indeed she did; for as the child paused before palesweet-scented Verbena, the flaunting Poppy caught her eye, and sheextended her hand toward the strange blossom.
"Carie, Carie, don't touch that vile thing!" said her mother, "it ispoisonous. The smell of it will make you sick. I do not see how itcame here. John must bring his spade and take it up. We will havenothing in the garden but what is beautiful or sweet, and this isneither!"
The poor Poppy! She had begun to love the little girl, the child hadsmiled on her so sweetly, and the other flowers had seemed soenvious when that little white hand was stretched out towards her;and when she drew back, at her Mother's call, reluctantly, but withlook of surprise and aversion, the Poppy did not care how soon shewas banished from a place where she had been treated so unjustly.
However, she was suffered to remain; whether the lady neglectedgiving instructions to the gardener respecting her, or whether heforgot her commands, I am not sure; but there she remained, dayafter day, striving every morning to wake up early and pull off herlittle green cap before the other flowers had opened their eyes, butnever succeeding in so doing.
It was no enviable position that she occupied, laughed at, despised,and scorned by all the other flowers in the garden, and in hourlyexpectation of being torn up by the roots and thrown into thestreet--the poor Poppy!
One day when the lady and her Carie were walking in the garden, thelittle girl, who had looked rather pale, put her hands suddenly toher head, and cried aloud. Her mother was very much frightened. Shecaught up the little girl in her arms, and tried to ascertain whatwas the matter; but the child only pressed her hands more tightly toher head, and cried more piteously. The lady carried her into thehouse, and the family were soon all in an uproar. The servants wereall running hither and thither; no one seemed to know what was thematter; for the lady had fainted from terror at her child's paleface and agonized cries, and the little girl could tell nothing.
"It is that odious Poppy who is the cause of all this!" said theflowers one to another (little Carie was indeed playing in herimmediate vicinity when she was seized with that dreadful distress),"she has poisoned her." And their suspicions were confirmed when oneof the servants came running into the garden, and seizing hold ofthe Poppy, stripped off every one of her bright scarlet petals, andgathering them up, returned quickly to the house.
"You poor thing!" said the Elder, as the Poppy, so rudely handled,bent down her dishonoured head to the ground; but not one of theother flowers addressed to her a single word.
Through the long day she lay there--the Poppy--on the earth, tryingto forget what had happened; for she did not know but their wordswere true, and she was the cause of the little girl's suffering--shewould so gladly have soothed her pain. The other flowers thought shewas dead, and the Poppy herself believed that she should never seethe light of another morning; but just before the day was gone, thelady walked again into the garden accompanied by her husband;and--what do you suppose the other flowers thought?--withoutnoticing one of them, the lady walked directly to the Poppy, liftedher head from the ground, and leaned it against the frame whichsupported the proud Carnation, and then, with her white hands,replaced the loosened earth about her half uptorn roots.
"Oh, I hope it will not die!" she said to her husband, "I shouldrather lose anything else in the garden, for I don't know but itsaved dear little Carie's life! She had a dreadful headache, andnothing afforded her the least relief, till we bruised the leaves ofthe Poppy, and bound them on her temples, and then she became quiet,and fell into a gentle sleep. Oh, I hope it will live!"
Don't you think the Poppy did live, and was proud and happy enough?Do you think she was ever afterwards ashamed of her little greencap, or her ragged scarlet leaves? And do you think the otherflowers ever laughed at her again, or were ashamed of heracquaintance?
When the summer had passed away, and the bright blossoms one by onewithered and died before the autumn's cool breath, the Poppycheerfully scattered her little seeds on the earth, and laid herselfdown to die; for she knew that when another spring should come, andher children should shoot up from the ground, they would be nurturedas tenderly, and prized as highly as those of the sweeter and farmore beautiful flowers.
THE END.
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