"Fie, Mary, fie! Why do you cry,
And blind your eyes to knowing
How dingle-bells and cockle-shells
And cowslips all are growing?"
"Oh, Squire!" sobbed Mary, "I am in great trouble.
"Each dingle-bell I loved so well
Before my eyes is dying,
And much I fear my brother dear
In sickness now is lying!"
"Nonsense!" said the Squire; "because you named the flowers after your
brother Hobart is no reason he should be affected by the fading of
the dingle-bells. I very much suspect the real reason they are dying
is because the cold sea wind caught them last night. Dingle-bells are
delicate. If you had scattered the cockle-shells and cowslips all about
them, the stronger plants would have protected the weaker; but you see,
my girl, you planted the dingle-bells all in a row, and so the wind
caught them nicely."
Again Mary reproached herself for having been contrary and refusing to
listen to her mother's advice; but the Squire's words comforted her,
nevertheless, and made her feel that brother Hobart and the flowers had
really nothing to do with each other.
The weather now began to change, and the cold sea winds blew each night
over Mary's garden. She did not know this, for she was always lying
snugly tucked up in her bed, and the warm morning sun usually drove
away the winds; but her mother knew it, and feared Mary's garden would
suffer.
One day Mary came into the house where her mother was at work and said,
gleefully,
"Papa and my brothers will soon be home now."
"Why do you think so?" asked her mother.
"Because the cockle-shells and cowslips are both fading away and
dying, just as the dingle-bells did, and papa said when they faded and
withered he and the boys would come back to us."
Mary's mother knew that the harsh winds had killed the flowers before
their time, but she did not like to disappoint her darling, so she only
said, with a sigh,
"I hope you are right, Mary, for we both shall be glad to welcome our
dear ones home again."
But soon afterward the big bluff Squire came riding up, as was his
wont, to where Mary stood by her garden, and he at once asked,
"Pray tell me, dear, though much I fear
The answer sad I know,
How grow the sturdy cockle-shells
And cowslips, all in a row?"
And Mary looked up at him with her bright smile and answered,
"Dingle-bells and cockle-shells
And cowslips are all dead,
And now my papa's coming home,
For so he surely said."
"Ah," said the Squire, looking at her curiously, "I'm afraid you are
getting way ahead of time. See here, Mary, how would you like a little
ride with me on my nag?"
"I would like it very much, sir," replied Mary.
"Then reach up your hand. Now!--there you are, little one!" and Mary
found herself seated safely in front of the Squire, who clasped her
with one strong arm so that she could not slip off.
"Now, then," he said, "we'll take a little ride down the hill and by
the path that runs beside the wood."
So he gave the rein to his mare and they rode along, chatting merrily
together, till they came to the wood. Then said the Squire,
"Take a look within that nook
And tell me what is there."
And Mary exclaimed,
"A dingle-bell, and truth to tell
In full bloom, I declare!"
The Squire now clucked to his nag, and as they rode away he said,
"Now come with me and you shall see
A field with cowslips bright,
And not a garden in the land
Can show so fair a sight."
And so it was, for as they rode through the pastures the cowslips
bloomed on every hand, and Mary's eyes grew bigger and bigger as she
thought of her poor garden with its dead flowers.
And then the Squire took her toward the little brook that wandered
through the meadows, flowing over the pebbles with a soft, gurgling
sound that was very nearly as sweet as music; and when they reached it
the big Squire said,
"If you will look beside the brook
You'll see, I know quite well,
That hidden in each mossy nook
Is many a cockle-shell."
This was indeed true, and as Mary saw them she suddenly dropped her
head and began to weep.
"What's the matter, little one?" asked the Squire in his kind, bluff
voice. And Mary answered,
"Although the flowers I much admire,
You know papa did say
He won't be home again, Squire,
Till all have passed away."
"You must be patient, my child," replied her friend; "and surely you
would not have been thus disappointed had you not tried to make the
field flowers grow where they do not belong. Gardens are all well
enough for fancy flowers to grow in, but the posies that God gave to
all the world, and made to grow wild in the great garden of Nature,
will never thrive in other places. Your father meant you to watch the
flowers in the field; and if you will come and visit them each day,
you will find the time of waiting very short indeed."
Mary dried her eyes and thanked the kindly old Squire, and after that
she visited the fields each day and watched the flowers grow.
And it was not so very long, as the Squire said, before the blossoms
began to wither and fall away; and finally one day Mary looked out over
the sea and saw a little speck upon the waters that looked like a sail.
And when it came nearer and had grown larger, both she and her mother
saw that it was the "Skylark" come home again, and you can imagine how
pleased and happy the sight of the pretty little ship made them.
And soon after, when Mary had been hugged by her two sunburned brothers
and was clasped in her father's strong arms, she whispered,
"I knew you were coming soon, papa."
"And how did you know, sweetheart?" he asked, giving her an extra kiss.
"Because I watched the flowers; and the dingle-bells and cowslips and
cockle-shells are all withered and faded away. And did you not say
that, God willing, when this happened you would come back to us?"
"To be sure I did," answered her father, with a happy laugh; "and
I must have spoken truly, sweetheart, for God in His goodness was
willing, and here I am!"
[Illustration: The Wond'rous Wise Man]