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."