Mistress Mary, quite contrary,
How does your garden grow?
With dingle bells and cockle shells
And cowslips, all in a row.
HIGH upon a cliff that overlooked the sea was a little white cottage,
in which dwelt a sailor and his wife, with their two strong sons and a
little girl. The sons were also sailors, and had made several voyages
with their father in a pretty ship called the "Skylark." Their names
were Hobart and Robart. The little girl's name was Mary, and she was
very happy indeed when her father and her brothers were at home, for
they petted her and played games with, her and loved her very dearly.
But when the "Skylark" went to sea, and her mother and herself were
left alone in the little white cottage, the hours were very dull and
tedious, and Mary counted the days until the sailors came home again.
One spring, just as the grasses began to grow green upon the cliff
and the trees were dressing their stiff, barren branches in robes of
delicate foliage, the father and brothers bade good-bye to Mary and her
mother, for they were starting upon a voyage to the Black Sea.
"And how long will you be gone, papa?" asked Mary, who was perched
upon her father's knee, where she could nestle her soft cheek against
his bushy whiskers.
"How long?" he repeated, stroking her curls tenderly as he spoke;
"well, well, my darling, it will be a long time indeed! Do you know the
cowslips that grow in the pastures, Mary?"
"Oh, yes; I watch for them every spring," she answered.
"And do you know the dingle-bells that grow near the edge of the wood?"
he asked again.
"I know them well, papa," replied Mary, "for often I gather their blue
blossoms and put them in a vase upon the table."
"And how about the cockle-shells?"
"Them also I know," said Mary eagerly, for she was glad her father
should find her so well acquainted with the field flowers; "there is
nothing prettier than the big white flowers of the cockle-shells. But
tell me, papa, what have the flowers to do with your coming home?"
"Why, just this, sweetheart," returned the sailor gravely; "all the
time that it takes the cowslips and dingle-bells and cockle-shells
to sprout from the ground, and grow big and strong, and blossom into
flower, and, yes--to wither and die away again--all that time shall
your brothers and I sail the seas. But when the cold winds begin to
blow, and the flowers are gone, then, God willing, we shall come back
to you; and by that time you may have grown wiser and bigger, and I am
sure you will have grown older. So one more kiss, sweetheart, and then
we must go, for our time is up."
The next morning, when Mary and her mother had dried their eyes, which
had been wet with grief at the departure of their loved ones, the
little girl asked earnestly,
"Mamma, may I make a flower-garden?"
"A flower-garden!" repeated her mother in surprise; "why do you wish a
flower-garden, Mary?"
"I want to plant in it the cockle-shells and the cowslips and the
dingle-bells," she answered.
And her mother, who had heard what the sailor had said to his little
girl, knew at once what Mary meant; so she kissed her daughter and
replied,
"Yes, Mary, you may have the flower-garden, if you wish. We will dig a
nice little bed just at the side of the house, and you shall plant your
flowers and care for them yourself."
"I think I'd rather have the flowers at the front of the house," said
Mary.
"But why?" enquired her mother; "they will be better sheltered at the
side."
"I want them in front," persisted Mary, "for the sun shines stronger
there."
"Very well," answered her mother, "make your garden at the front, if
you will, and I will help you to dig up the ground."
"But I don't want you to help," said Mary, "for this is to be my own
little flower-garden, and I want to do all the work myself."
Now I must tell you that this little girl, although very sweet in many
ways, had one serious fault. She was inclined to be a bit contrary, and
put her own opinions and ideas before those of her elders. Perhaps Mary
meant no wrong in this; she often thought she knew better how to do a
thing than others did; and in such a case she was not only contrary,
but anxious to have her own way.
And so her mother, who did not like her little daughter to be unhappy,
often gave way to her in small things, and now she permitted Mary to
make her own garden, and plant it as she would.
So Mary made a long, narrow bed at the front of the house, and then she
prepared to plant her flowers.
"If you scatter the seeds," said her mother, "the flower-bed will look
very pretty."
Now this was what Mary was about to do; but since her mother advised
it, she tried to think of another way, for, as I said, she was contrary
at times. And in the end she planted the dingle-bells all in one
straight row, and the cockle-shells in another straight row the length
of the bed, and she finished by planting the cowslips in another long
row at the back.
Her mother smiled, but said nothing; and now, as the days passed by,
Mary watered and tended her garden with great care; and when the
flowers began to sprout she plucked all the weeds that grew among
them, and so in the mild spring weather the plants grew finely.
"When they have grown up big and strong," said Mary one morning, as
she weeded the bed, "and when they have budded and blossomed and faded
away again, then papa and my brothers will come home. And I shall call
the cockle-shells papa, for they are the biggest and strongest; and the
dingle-bells shall be brother Hobart, and the cowslips brother Robart.
And now I feel as if the flowers were really my dear ones, and I must
be very careful that they come to no harm!"
She was filled with joy when one morning she ran out to her
flower-garden after breakfast and found the dingle-bells and cowslips
were actually blossoming, while even the cockle-shells were showing
their white buds. They looked rather comical, all standing in stiff,
straight rows, one after the other; but Mary did not mind that.
While she was working she heard the tramp of a horse's hoofs, and
looking up saw the big bluff Squire riding toward her. The big Squire
was very fond of children, and whenever he rode near the little
white cottage he stopped to have a word with Mary. He was old and
bald-headed, and he had side-whiskers that were very red in color and
very short and stubby; but there was ever a merry twinkle in his blue
eyes, and Mary well knew him for her friend.
Now, when she looked up and saw him coming toward her flower-garden,
she nodded and smiled at him, and the big bluff Squire rode up to her
side, and looked down with a smile at her flowers.
Then he said to her in rhyme (for it was a way of speaking the jolly
Squire had),
"Mistress Mary, so contrary,
How does your garden grow?
With dingle-bells and cockle-shells
And cowslips all in a row!"
And Mary, being a sharp little girl, and knowing the Squire's queer
ways, replied to him likewise in rhyme, saying,
"I thank you, Squire, that you enquire
How well the flowers are growing;
The dingle-bells and cockle-shells
And cowslips all are blowing!"
The Squire laughed at this reply, and patted her upon her head, and
then he continued,
"'Tis aptly said. But prithee, maid,
Why thus your garden fill
When ev'ry field the same flowers yield
To pluck them as you will?"
"That is a long story, Squire," said Mary; "but this much I may tell
you,
"The cockle-shell is father's flower,
The cowslip here is Robart,
The dingle-bell, I now must tell,
I've named for Brother Hobart.
"And when the flowers have lived their lives
In sunshine and in rain,
And then do fade, why, papa said
He'd sure come home again."
"Oh, that's the idea, is it?" asked the big bluff Squire, forgetting
his poetry. "Well, it's a pretty thought, my child, and I think because
the flowers are strong and hearty that you may know your father and
brothers are the same; and I'm sure I hope they'll come back from their
voyage safe and sound. I shall come and see you again, little one, and
watch the garden grow." And then he said "gee-up" to his gray mare, and
rode away.
The very next day, to Mary's great surprise and grief, she found the
leaves of the dingle-bells curling and beginning to wither.
"Oh, mamma," she called, "come quick! Something is surely the matter
with brother Hobart!"
"The dingle-bells are dying," said her mother, after looking carefully
at the flowers; "but the reason is that the cold winds from the sea
swept right over your garden last night, and dingle-bells are delicate
flowers and grow best where they are sheltered by the woods. If you had
planted them at the side of the house, as I wished you to, the wind
would not have killed them."
Mary did not reply to this, but sat down and began to weep, feeling at
the same time that her mother was right and it was her own fault for
being so contrary.