Part 15

"'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."

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.

"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: