Part 33

"The fairies heard the cry, too, and vanished, but the gentle little fairy who was her friend came and guided her in sorrow to her palace, and said, 'I can grant you one wish, but it must not be to see again--that I cannot grant.'

"'Then,' said the princess, 'if I cannot see my flowers, I wish that they may never bloom again until some one, who cares more for them than I, shall wish to see them.'

"And the wish came true. Never a flower in the garden of the princess bloomed from that day. Their buds dropped, their leaves shrank, and many of them hid away where they would not be seen by passers-by. Some slipped away into the water and became seaweeds. Some hid in the deep woods, and crept into dark places, and became ferns. Others, growing smaller each year, became moss. Some hid among the rocks of the cliff and became lichens. And some, who wanted to be useful if they could not bloom, scattered themselves over the woods and fields and became mushrooms. But some of these were of bitter or sharp nature, and these we cannot eat. And some grew wicked and vicious, and these are poison. One of them, the Amanita, which had bloomed as a great golden white-spotted flower in the garden of the princess, became the most vicious of all. It kept much of its color, which now makes people shun it because it is a sign of deadly poison."

"And will the flowers that grew in the garden of the princess never bloom again?"

"Never, unless some one who cares more for them than she did shall wish to see them."

"But how can I care so much unless I can see them?" asked little Prue.

"Perhaps that is why they will never bloom again," said Davy.

SEPTEMBER

SEPTEMBER

A FLOWER REALLY HAS CLOTHES

THE little gardens were in quite a bad way when Davy and Prue came back from the seashore. Everything had done well, even to the weeds, and that was just the trouble. It took two whole days, working when the sun was not so very hot, to get the beds in shape, and the Chief Gardener had to work, too, very hard. But by and by everything was clean and beautiful again, and the seat under the peach-tree was a finer place than ever, because there were more things in bloom, and everything had become more beautiful.

One day Davy came to the seat, where little Prue and the Chief Gardener were resting, with a double carnation in his hand.

"I wish you would look at this," he said. "I can't tell petals from stamens."

The Chief Gardener took the flower, and slowly pulled it to pieces.

"Well, no," he said; "it isn't the easiest thing to do, though, of course, those anther-looking things must belong to stamens."

"But the filaments are like petals," objected Davy.

"Yes, and here are others like them, though they have no anthers. Those are supposed to be stamens, too, or, at least, they were stamens, once."

Davy looked puzzled.

"You remember I told you once, Davy, that a flower was only one form of a leaf--a leaf intended to make the plant beautiful, and to make it bear seed. Well, in some plants, especially cultivated ones, the flower-leaves seem to get rather mixed in their parts."

The Chief Gardener picked a scarlet canna that grew near.

"Here is a flower which has three little petals and four large flower-leaves which you would think were petals, wouldn't you? But the stamens and petals and sepals are so mixed that even botanists can hardly decide which is which. In a water-lily, too, the petals gradually become stamens, so, perhaps, the leaf came first, ages and ages ago, and little by little it has changed, first to sepals, then petals, then to stamens and pistils, so that it could make seeds and scatter them to the wind. Gardeners make double flowers out of single ones by a process of turning stamens and even pistils into petals. The double flower is sometimes very beautiful, but it is not the most perfect flower. The wild rose is more perfect than the finest double American Beauty. Perhaps double flowers came before single ones, a long time ago, when the leaves were turning to blossoms, so that the gardeners who make the wonderful double blooms now are really going backward instead of forward. But that is all too hard. I'm afraid--especially for a little girl who likes very double carnations."

"I know everything you're talking about, just as well as Davy does," said the little girl, sitting up quite straight. "And I like single flowers, 'specially lilies, and wild roses; but I think double flowers are nice, too, because they seem dressed up, like folks--queens and princesses, all with nice dresses--velvet and chiffon and lacey stuff."

"Why, that is just what they are, Prue. They are dressed up, and, of course, the more anything, or anybody, is dressed up the less they are really like themselves. The petals and sepals of a flower are really fine clothes, you know, just as you sometimes play they are, when you make hollyhock dolls, and it wears them for just about the same reason that we wear ours. It might grow and be useful without them, but it would not be very attractive, and some of its friends and servants might pass by without seeing it."

"Servants! But flowers don't really have servants. That must be just a story."

"No--at least, it is all very true. Flowers are like people in very many ways. They really have servants and friends, and some of them live off other flowers and plants, and some of them eat and sleep, very much as we do. I will tell you something about that another time."

THE FLOWER HAS MANY SERVANTS

IT was about a week after this that little Prue was picking some sweet-pease for the table when Davy came along with the Chief Gardener.

"The servants are busy this morning," said the Chief Gardener.