strings, they seemed to grow faster--almost as if they were running
races, while the pease reached out and clung to the little twigs, and
stood up straight and trim, like soldiers. The pansies and nasturtiums,
too, and the lettuce and radishes all sent out more and more leaves,
and began to hide the little pods. Davy was wild to pull up just one
radish to see if it wasn't big enough to eat, but on the first day of
March, when the Chief Gardener told him that he might do so, he was
grieved to find only a pale little root, just a bit larger and a trifle
pinker at the top, instead of the fat, round vegetable he had expected.
Still, it was really a radish, Davy said, and he cut the thickest
part in two and gave half to little Prue, who brought out her little
dishes and set her table that Santa Claus left under the Christmas
Tree. Then she put her piece on one little plate, and Davy's piece on
another, and picked one tiny pansy leaf and one from the nasturtiums
to make bouquets. And Davy picked a lettuce leaf--a very small lettuce
leaf--for a salad, so that when their little table was all spread and
ready, with some very small slices of bread, and some cookies--some
quite large cookies--and some animal crackers, with milk for tea, it
really looked quite fresh and pretty and made you hungry just to look
at it.
[Illustration: THE NASTURTIUMS BEGAN TO HIDE THE LITTLE POT]
And, oh, yes, I forgot to say that there was some salt, the least
little bit, in two of the tiniest salt dishes, and when they sat down
at last to the very first meal out of their garden, all on the first
day of March, when no other gardens around about had been planted yet,
they dipped the tiny bits of radish into the tiny salt dishes, and
nibbled it, just a wee bit at a time to make it last, and last, ever
so long. And they said it tasted real radishy, and that the lettuce
leaf, with one drop of vinegar and a speck of salt, was just fine. And
little Prue held her doll and made her taste, too, and then the Chief
Gardener and grown-up Prue must each have a tiny, tiny bite.
And so, of course, Davy got to be really quite proud of his first
radish, and said that after all it wasn't so bad for the first one,
and that it was almost as big as a slate-pencil, in the thickest part.
Pretty soon they might have a radish that would be big enough for each
one to have quite a piece, and they would serve it on a whole leaf of
salad. He felt sure that on his birthday, which would be on the tenth,
they might really have something very nice.
Then Prue was very quiet for a minute, thinking. By and by she asked:
"And do you think I will have flowers for Davy's birthday? Davy can
just pick his lettuce and radishes any time. My 'sturtiums and pansies
are as big as his things, but I have to wait for them to bloom."
"Why, that's so, Prue." The Chief Gardener went over to her pansies
and looked at them very closely, but if he saw anything he did not
speak of it. "Oh, well," he said, "if you don't have flowers for Davy's
birthday, maybe you will for mine. It comes in March, too, you know.
And then it's ten days yet till Davy's, and you never can tell what
will happen in ten days."
Alas, this was too true. It got quite warm during the second week of
March, and the fire in the furnace was allowed to get low. Then one
night it suddenly turned cold--as cold as January.
"Oh, what makes some of my pea leaves look so dark?" asked Davy, as
they stopped in the icy sitting-room for a moment, before hurrying
through to the warm dining-room, where a big open fire was blazing.
The Chief Gardener shook his head, rather solemnly.
"I'm afraid they are bitten a little by Jack Frost," he said.
"Oh, mine are all dark, too," whispered Prue, sorrowfully. "I am going
to take them right out to the dining-room fire, and warm them."
"And that would be the very worst thing you could do," said the Chief
Gardener. "Let them stay right where they are, and we will heat the
room slowly by opening the register just the least bit at a time, and
draw the shades to keep out the sun. Perhaps if we do that the frost
will come out so gently that the plants will not be killed. If you
should warm them quickly they would be very apt to die, or at least to
be badly injured."
So they did as the Chief Gardener said, and kept the sitting-room quite
cool all day. Then by another day the pease and all the others looked
about as well as ever, only a few of the tenderest leaves withered up
and dropped off because Jack Frost had breathed harder on these than on
the others. As for the radishes and lettuce and pansies, they hadn't
minded it the least bit, for they can stand a good deal of cold, and
the corn and sunflower and nasturtiums didn't lose any leaves, so,
perhaps, they didn't care for a touch of frost either.
II
THE SUN SWINGS LIKE A GREAT PENDULUM
AND now with each day there was brighter sunshine that came earlier
and stayed longer. From a high east window they saw the sun rise each
morning, when it was bright weather, and when they happened to be awake
in time, and they saw how the big red ball crept farther and farther to
the north, along the far fringe of trees, beyond all the houses which
they could see.
"It rose away down beyond that little white house on Christmas
morning," said Davy, who was always up early. "I remember very well.
Now it's got past the tall pine by the red barn. How much farther will
it go?"
The Chief Gardener pointed to a dim pencil-mark on the window-sill.
"That was the angle of the shadow," he said, "on the twenty-first of
June, and points to just where the sun will rise on the longest day of
the year. You will have to be up very early to see it on that day." He
pointed to another faint line. "That," he said, "was the angle on the
twenty-first of December, the shortest day. The sun swings like a great
pendulum from one point to the other and gives us winter and summer,
and all the seasons between. Half-way between these marks is due east,
and there the sun will rise on the twenty-first of March, which is the
first day of spring."
"Do you think our garden things are looking at it, and wishing it would
hurry and get farther toward the June mark," said little Prue.
"I think they are," the Chief Gardener answered. "They don't have eyes,
as we have, but they have a way of seeing the sun, and of knowing just
where it is, for most of them turn toward it as they grow, and some of
them follow it all the way across the sky, from morning until night,
and then turn back and wait for it to rise again. Your sunflower would
do that, Prue, if it were out under the open sky."
[Illustration: THE VERY SMALL LETTUCE LEAVES]
"Oh, it does now. I mean it looks toward the sun in the morning, with
its top leaves, and keeps them turned toward it as far as it can."
"So you have noticed that, have you? Well, I'm glad, for I have read
in books--books written by very wise men--that the sunflower did not
really do this, but that it was just an old fable. I think those wise
men, perhaps, never saw the wild western sunflowers, but only the big
tame ones that have heavy, coarse stems and are so big and clumsy and
fat that they couldn't well turn, even if they wanted to. I have seen
whole fields of wild sunflowers--little ones like yours, and long
before they were in bloom--with every stem bent toward the sunrise,
when there was not a breath of wind blowing; and I have seen the same
flowers straighten their little stems as the sun rose higher, and then
bend them again to the west in the evening; and the little bend would
be so tight and firm that you could hardly straighten the stalk without
breaking it. Very wise men make mistakes sometimes, mistakes that even
a little girl would not make, just because they have not happened to
see something which a little girl with sharp eyes has seen and thought
about. It is a wonderful and beautiful sight on the prairies of the
West to see miles of wild sunflowers in full bloom. They are like a
great sea of gold, and in the early morning, when the air is still,
every bloom is faced toward the sunrise, as bright and fresh and
faithful as the sun itself."
"I should think there would be a story about the sunflower," said Davy,
half speaking to himself.
"Oh, there have been many stories about it, Davy. After breakfast I
will try and remember the one I like best."
So then they hurried down to the dining-room, pausing just long
enough to see that the garden was all safe, and to notice that the
upper leaves of Prue's sunflower were really faced so far to the sun
that there was a sharp little crook in the stem, then out to the big
dining-room fire, for the fragrant breakfast that was waiting, and back
to the library fire for the story that was to be told.
III
LONG BEFORE THERE WERE ANY RAILROADS AND CITIES
"ONCE upon a time--"
"Oh," said Prue, "once upon a time--I just love 'once upon a time.'"
"Yes," nodded Davy, solemnly, "and once upon a time there was a little
girl who couldn't keep still so that her Papa could tell a story."
Prue snuggled down, and the Chief Gardener began all over.
"Once upon a time, long before there were any railroads, and cities
such as ours, long before Columbus ever sailed over the ocean to a
new world--when all this great wide country, as you know, was held by
Indians, who hunted and fished, and made war sometimes, when they had
disputes--there lived away in the far West two very friendly tribes.
Their lands joined and they hunted together, and when one tribe was at
war the other joined in and helped to fight the enemy. So they became
almost as one tribe and their children grew up together.
"Now, in one tribe there was a little Indian boy, a chief's son, who
was very fond of a little Indian girl of the other tribe. Their mothers
had always been great friends, and often for a whole day at a time the
little Indian boy and girl played together, and as they grew up they
cared for each other more and more, and the Indian boy, Ahlogah, said
that when he was older and a chief he would make the little Indian
girl, Laida, his wife.
"But it happened that in Laida's tribe there was also a chief's son,
a jealous-hearted and cruel boy that Laida did not like. But this boy
cared for Laida, and like Ahlogah made up his mind that some day she
should be his wife.
"So they all grew up, and Ahlogah and Laida loved each other more
dearly every day, and Kapoka, the other youth, grew more jealous and
more cruel-hearted. And when one day his father died, and he became
chief of his tribe, he said that if she did not give up Ahlogah, he
would make war on Ahlogah's tribe.
"So then Ahlogah and Laida met one evening just before sunset to say
good-by for the last time. Their tribes had never been at war, and they
were willing to part forever to keep Kapoka from making a war now.
Laida had not promised to marry Kapoka, she had only promised not to
see Ahlogah again. And now they parted, just as the sun was going down,
and they both turned to see it for the last time side by side. And then
Ahlogah said:
"'To-morrow just at sunrise go to the high rocks above the river and
look to the east. And where the river passes through our lands, I will
go also to see some high rocks, and I will look to the east, too,
when the sun rises, and I will know that though we are apart, we are
watching the sun rise together, and it will be always our message of
love to each other as it travels across the sky.'
"So Laida went back to her tribe and Ahlogah to his, and every morning
they watched from their high rocks above the river, and held out their
arms to the rising sun, as a message it should bear between them.
"And Kapoka found out that Laida went every morning to the high rocks,
and held out her arms to the sun. And he found that Ahlogah also went
every morning to the high rocks farther up the river. Then Kapoka knew
that Laida would never be his wife as long as Ahlogah was alive. And
one morning very early Kapoka left his wigwam and crept across to the
lands of the other tribes, and to the high rocks where Ahlogah stood
waiting for the sunrise. And just as the sun rose, and Kapoka knew that
Ahlogah would not hear him, he slipped up behind Ahlogah, and gave him
a great push that sent him over into the swift river, hundreds of feet
below.
"And the swift river caught him and tossed him and whirled him about,
and finally carried him down past the high rocks where Laida was
sending her message to the sun. And Laida looked down and saw him
coming. She saw his chieftain's dress and plumes tossed and whirled by
the water. She knew it was Ahlogah, and she waited for him. Then, when
he just was below the high rocks where she stood, she gave a great cry,
'Ahlogah!' and she was in the whirling, tossing water beside him.
"Then the tribes searched together, and they found Ahlogah and Laida
far below, cast up on a place of white pebbles, side by side. And
they buried them, side by side, and both the tribes mourned. But when
the spring came there grew upon their graves two strange flowers with
bright, beautiful faces that turned each morning to the sunrise. And
these they named Ahlogah and Laida, but in another year there were
more of them, so they called them sunflowers, and after that the land
in September, the month when they had died, was like gold with the
beautiful flowers of the sun."
"But what became of the wicked Kapoka? What did they do with him?"
asked Prue, anxiously.
"They never saw him again. I suppose he was ashamed to come back, and
by and by his brother, who was good and noble, ruled the tribe, and
they dwelt in peace for many generations."
"Do sunflowers belong to a family now?" asked Davy.
"Oh, yes, to the very largest of all families--a family that spreads
all over the world, and the sunflower has been found to be so perfect
in form that the family is sometimes called the Sunflower Family. Its
true name is the Composite Family, which means flowers with thick,
bunchy centers, formed of a lot of very tiny little flowers, with a rim
of petals around the whole--rays they are called--making it into one
big flower."
"The black-eyed Susans must belong to that family, too," said Davy.
"They do, and the daisy, and the marigold, and the zinnia, and the
aster, and your lettuce, too, Davy, and many, many more. Whenever you
see a flower with a round bunchy center and a rim of petals, like a
sunflower--no matter what color or how small it is--you will know it
belongs to the Composite Family. I suppose there are more of this
family in America than in any other country, but the sunflower is the
finest of them all, and the most generally useful. Its seeds are full
of fine oil, and are excellent food for cattle and poultry. The Indians
sometimes use them for bread. The flowers themselves are full of honey,
the leaves, too, are good for cattle, and the stalks make fine fuel. In
many places and many countries the sunflowers are cultivated and valued
highly. Of course, there are other useful members, and your lettuce is
one of the finest salads in the world."
IV
DID YOU EVER SEE THE LITTLE MAN IN THE PANSY?
MARCH was really an exciting month in the little window gardens. With
longer and brighter suns, everything grew faster, until the windows
began to look full and green, and the children often went outside to
look in, and were very proud, indeed, of the pretty show of vines and
leaves beyond the glass.
The race of vines became very close. Davy had one bean and Prue one
morning-glory which kept ahead of the others, and grew about the same
each day. They grew so fast that Davy thought if he would only watch
very closely he would be able to see them grow a little, but watch as
he would, he never could catch the little vine turning or sending out a
new leaf. It was like the short hand of the clock. It went twice around
each day, but nobody could see it move.
The corn and the sunflower were having a race, too, and the sunflower
was a little ahead, though Davy's corn was a good deal taller when he
lifted the points of the leaves.
"I don't think that is fair," said Prue, and the Chief Gardener was
called to decide.
"No," he said, "the corn must be measured from where the leaves turn
over, until it sends up its tassel, or bloom. Then it may be measured
to the top of that. And that may be sooner than you think, too," he
added, as he looked down into the healthy-looking green stalk that was
fully two feet high. "And just see those vines; why they are more than
half-way up the casings already!"
It was the day before Davy's birthday, and Prue was looking anxiously
at her pansies. All at once she gave a joyous cry.
"Oh, Papa, a bud! Oh, it truly is, a real sure enough bud!"
The Chief Gardener looked with care.
"Yes," he said, "it is really a bud, and quite a large one, too. It
begins to show the color. It's going to be a purple one, I believe."
Prue was fairly wild with excitement.
[Illustration: DAVY'S POT OF RADISHES]
"Oh, may I pick it to-morrow for Davy's birthday?" she asked.
"I don't believe I would, Prue. It won't be open for a week or more,
perhaps. I would wait until it opens."
So Davy's birthday came and passed without flowers from their garden,
but they did have radishes, two of them, and these were cut in two
and divided around so that each had quite a nice taste, and a leaf of
salad, too. The radishes were nearly as big as marbles, little marbles,
of course, and very red and beautiful, and Prue put her pansy-pot on
the table, and showed the bud, with its purple tip, every time Davy
made any mention of his radishes or his lettuce, and with a big cake
and other good things they had a very happy time indeed.
But now things began to happen in real earnest. The pansy bloomed--a
big velvety, purple bloom, and then there was a yellow bud and a yellow
bloom with a purple spot in the center. Little Prue was simply too
happy to keep still, and danced in front of her garden almost from
morning until night.
Then suddenly they found a bud on the bean vines, and then on the
morning-glories, and then there were blooms--pink and purple blooms
on the morning-glories, and scarlet and white ones on the beans. Then
Davy's corn sent out a plume at the top, a wonderful tassel, and when
Davy measured to the top of it he found that it was over three feet
high.
"My birthday will be a regular feast of flowers," said the Chief
Gardener, and really there was good reason for saying so, for the
window casings were white, scarlet, pink, and purple, and the tasseling
corn and the broad green leaves of the sunflower were fair and lovely.
And Prue's pansy-pot was again on the table, and when the dinner was
over, the Chief Gardener drew it toward him, and picking one of the
purple blooms that was nearly ready to fall, said:
"Did you ever see the little man in the pansy?"
"No, oh, no," said Prue and Davy together. "Show him to us, Papa."
So then the Chief Gardener pulled off carefully all the petals of
the flower, and there, sure enough, sat a little round-bodied man,
in a wonderful green chair, made of the outer part, or calyx, of the
flower. His head was light green, his coat pale yellow, and he wore
a rich, brown collar. Just below him was a round green sack or tube,
filled with water, and when the Chief Gardener slitted it down, why
there, truly, were two little legs and feet that had been in the little
vessel. The children were delighted.
"Oh, tell us about him!" they said. "Who is he?"
"He was a king," said the Chief Gardener, "a poor, feeble king, who
always sat on a green throne, with his feet in a tub of water. And
his wife and daughters, all very splendidly dressed, used to perch
themselves around him on the throne and ask for more money to spend
on their fine clothes, and they were often cruel to him because he
wouldn't give it to them, crowding him and almost smothering him with
their velvet dresses.
[Illustration: "DAVY'S CORN SENT OUT A PLUME AT THE TOP"]
"So one day the fairies heard of it, and came to see. And they took
pity on the poor king, and the next time the wife and daughters were
crowding him on his throne they changed the king and his throne and
all the others, with their fine dresses, into a flower. And the flower
was the pansy. The velvet petals are the wife and daughters. The calyx
is the green throne, and this little man is the poor, sick king with
his feet and legs still in the little tub of water, though he can never
be worried and scolded again."
"I know that story is true," said little Prue, "for there is the very
little man, himself, and oh, see, you can take his coat off, and there
is a little green body inside."
Sure enough, it was as Prue had said, and the Chief Gardener explained.
"That little body becomes a pod to hold the seeds by and by. The little
coat helps to make the seed, too. I won't tell you all the names of
these things now, for you could not remember so much. Only try to
remember that the green throne is called the calyx, and each little
piece of it is a sepal, while the beautiful wife and daughters are
called petals, and when taken together are called a corolla, and that
this is true of every complete flower."
And so March, too, slipped away. And on one day near the very end of
the month, when it had been warm and bright for nearly a week, the
Chief Gardener went out into his garden and turned over some of the
earth which was getting dry. Davy said that it smelled all new and
springy, and reminded him of kite-time. And then the Chief Gardener
made two little beds of his own, and in one he sowed some lettuce,
and in the other some radish seed, because these were the things most
likely to grow from an early planting. Davy and Prue watched and
helped, and were very anxious to have little beds of their own, but the
Chief Gardener told them that they would better wait at least another
month before they did any outside gardening. Their window gardens were
just coming to their best time, he said, and planting outside so early
was always risky.
And that night when the wind went to the northeast, and a cold rain
set in, that turned to snow before morning, and made the ground all
white and glassy like December, they were very glad they had not made
any beds, and were sorry for the Chief Gardener's little beds of
vegetables, outside beneath the cold, cold snow.
APRIL
APRIL
I
THE YELLOW DUST IS A FOOD FOR THE SEED
APRIL showers began early. The sun shone out brightly on the morning
of the first day, but by breakfast time the rain was pattering down,
and all the rest of the day there were showers, one after another, that
streamed down the garden windows and made a little river of the path
outside. Davy said he had never seen it rain so much in one day, and
Prue said it was too bad. The Chief Gardener said it was an April fool.
But there was reason to be happy, after all. Whether it was the shower
outside; or the sun that was trying to shine; or just because it was
April, Prue and Davy did not know, but Prue all at once found a bud on
her sunflowers and Davy about the same time discovered a tiny brown
silky bunch on his corn, the beginning of the ear.
Then they forgot all about the rain, or at least they did not care so
much, and got their books and their little table and sat down by their
garden, which was now a real garden, of real flowers and vegetables,
and read some stories about other little people, and looked at the
pictures and talked about what they would do when warm weather came and
they had a still bigger garden outside.
And that night, when the Chief Gardener came home, he had to look at
the corn and the sunflower the first thing, and say, "Well, well,"
every time Prue told him how she had first seen the bud, which was a
good many times, and he had to explain to Davy all about the corn silk,
and the little ear that was still behind the rough green leaf, and how
the dust, or pollen, dropping down from the tassel above helped to
make the corn swell and grow on the ear.
"It is so in every flower, the yellow dust is a food for the seed. In
most plants the seed-pod and the food-dust or pollen are all in one
flower, but with the corn they are separate, as you see. Did you ever
notice, Davy, how much a cornstalk looks like an Indian, with plumes,
and its ear, like a quiver for holding arrows?"
"Oh, is that why people sometimes call it Indian corn?" asked Davy.
"No, that is not the reason. At least, there is a better one which I
will tell you when we have had our dinner."
So by and by, when dinner was over, and Prue had two servings of
pudding because she didn't care for chocolate cake--one very little
serving, of course, the Chief Gardener and Davy, and big Prue and
little Prue all went into the library, and the Chief Gardener told the
story of
II
THE COMING OF THE CORN
"YOU remember," said the Chief Gardener, "how I told you about the
first sunflowers--"
"Yes," put in Prue, "about that wicked Kapoka, who pushed poor Ahlogah
from the high rocks. Oh, I hope he is not in the corn story, too."