Part 6

Little Prue's mamma looked thoughtfully out the garden window, where a great climbing rambler was a mass of red blossoms.

"Do you think any other flower could be queen over that?" she asked.

"Why, no, but--but don't folks have to choose queens, or something?"

"They do presidents," said Davy.

"I think you'll have to tell us about it," laughed the Chief Gardener. "It's your turn for a story, anyway."

So then big Prue took them all out on the wide veranda, where they could watch the sunset, that came very late now, and there she told them

II

HOW THE ROSE BECAME QUEEN

"ONCE upon a time there was a very great garden that lay between two ranges of blue, blue hills. And the sky above was blue, as blue as the hills, so that you could hardly tell where the sky ended and the hills began, and underneath was the great, beautiful garden which covered all the lands between.

"And in this rare garden there were all the choicest flowers and fruit that the world knew, and when the flowers were all in bloom, under that blue, blue sky--in all the wonderful colors of gold and crimson, and royal purple, and with all the banks of white daisies, and all the sweet orchards of apple-bloom, there was nothing like it in the whole world, and the sweet perfume went out so far that sailors on the ships coming in from sea, a hundred miles away, could smell the sweet odors, and would say, 'The wind blows from the garden of the Princess Beautiful.' For I must tell you that the garden was owned by a great Princess, and she was called Beautiful by all who knew of her, and every traveler to that distant country made his way to her white marble palace to seek permission to look upon the most wonderful garden in all the world.

"And many who came there were of high rank, like herself, and some of them tried to win her love, for the Princess was like her name and as beautiful as the rarest flower in all that marvelous garden. But to princes and even kings she would not listen, for her heart and pride were only in her flowers, and she wished to remain with them forever and be happy in their beauty. She was only sad when she saw that some of those who came went away with heavy hearts because she would not leave her palace for theirs.

"Now once there came to the palace of the Princess Beautiful a great queen. She had traveled far to see the splendid garden, and when she came, the Princess led her with all her court among the flowers. And all that sunlit day, under the blue, blue sky, the great queen and her court lingered in the garden--up and down the paths of white shells, where hyacinths and lilies and daffodils and azaleas grew on every side--and rested in the shade of the blossoming orchard trees. And when it was evening, and they had gone, and the flowers were left alone, they whispered and murmured together, for never before had they seen a queen and her court.

"And by and by as the days passed, the flowers decided that they, too, must have a queen--some rare flower, fine and stately, whom they would honor, even as they had seen their beautiful Princess honor her royal guest. And night after night they talked of these things, but never could decide which of their number should be chosen for the high place.

"And then one day a great sadness came upon the fair garden between the hills. A young traveler from an unknown country had come to the white palace, and one sunny afternoon the Princess Beautiful had led him among the beds of primroses and lilies and daffodils. And when the sun was going down and she turned and looked into his face, and saw how fair he was, and how the sun made his hair like gold, how it shimmered on his beautiful garments of velvet and fine lace, she felt for the first time a great love arise within her heart. Then, all at once, she forgot her garden, her palace and her pride--forgot everything in all the world except the fair youth who stood there with her in the sunset--and she told him her great new love.

"And as she spoke, softly and tenderly, the words she had never spoken to any one before, the breeze died, and the sun slipped down behind the far-off hills. And then, as the light faded, it seemed to the Princess Beautiful that the fair youth before her was fading, too. His face grew dim and misty--his hair became a blur of gold--his rare garments melted back into the beds of bloom. And behold, instead of the fair youth there stood before her in the twilight only a wonderful golden lily with a crimson heart.

"Then the Princess Beautiful knew that because she had cared only for her garden, and had sent from her those who had offered a great love like her own, that this wonderful lily had come to her as a youth with a face of radiant beauty, and with hair of gold, to awaken a human love in her heart. And each day she mourned there by the splendid lily, and called upon it to return to her as the fair youth she had loved; and at last when its flowers faded and the stem drooped, the white palace of the Princess Beautiful was empty, for the Princess lay dead beside the withered lily in the rare garden between the hills.

"And there they made her grave, and above it they built a trellis where a white climbing rose might grow. But when the rose bloomed, instead of being white, it was a wonderful crimson, such as no one had ever seen before. And when the other flowers saw those beautiful crimson blossoms, they no longer mourned, for they said, 'This is our Princess Beautiful who has returned to be our queen.'

"And so it was the red rose became the queen of flowers, and a symbol of great human love. The poet Burns sings,

'My love is like a red, red rose That's newly blown in June,'

and it was always in June that the great crimson rose bloomed on the grave in the garden of the Princess Beautiful."

"And did the lily ever bloom again?" asked little Prue.

"I'm sure it must have done so. We always speak of roses and lilies as belonging together, and there is a great golden lily called the Superbus, which I think might have been the beautiful youth that came to the white palace."

"Does the story mean that we shouldn't care too much for our gardens?" asked Davy. "More than for folks, I mean?"

"Do you know, Davy," said the Chief Gardener, "I was just wondering about that, too."

III

THE SUN IS THE GREATEST OF ALL CHEMISTS

IT was about a week later, that one afternoon little Prue and Davy and the Chief Gardener were helping big Prue with her roses, and admiring all the different kinds. Little Prue had been thinking a good deal about roses since the story of the Princess Beautiful, and wondering just which of the climbing red ones had grown about her grave. Then she began to wonder about all the kinds, and how they came. She spoke about this now, as her mamma pointed out one which she said was a new rose--just offered for sale that year.

"Where did it come from?" asked the little girl, "where do new roses come from?"

"From seed," answered the Chief Gardener, "like the new peaches and apples I told you of. Roses belong to the same family, you know, and they are grafted much in the same way. Then the seeds are planted, and from these, fine new kinds are likely to come. Rose-growers are always trying hard to make new kinds by mixing the pollen. The pollen, you remember, is the yellow powder on the little tips of the stamens. These tips, as I believe I told you, are called anthers, and the slender part of the stamen is the filament. It is the pollen falling from the anthers upon the single green stem or pistil in the center of the flower that produces the seed. The pistil is divided in parts, too. The little top piece is called the stigma, and the slender green stem is called the style. The pollen falls on the stigma and is drawn down through the style to give life to the seed-pod below."

The Chief Gardener picked the bloom of a single bramble rose and pulled it apart to show the children all these things.

"Now," he went on, "gardeners often take a rose of one kind and color and shake it gently over a rose of another kind and color, so that the pollen will fall from the anthers of one upon the stigma of the other. In this way the seeds are mixed and it may happen that wonderful new roses come from those seeds. Sometimes, instead of shaking the rose, the gardener carefully takes up the pollen on a tiny soft brush and lays it gently on the stigma of the other rose, all of which has to be done as soon as the bloom is open. Of course, such roses are kept to themselves, and labeled, and the seeds are carefully labeled also."

Davy and Prue were both interested.

"Oh, can I make some new kinds of roses," asked little Prue, greatly excited. "Can I, Mamma?"

"You may try, but I am afraid you will not be very successful where all the roses are out here in the open air. Still, it will do no harm to see what will happen, and you might get something very wonderful."

"I am already trying for a new kind of peach," said Davy.

"And if you get a good one we will call it the 'Early David,'" laughed the Chief Gardener.

"And what will you call my rose?"

"Why, 'the Princess Prue,' of course."

"Do seeds from the same bush make the different roses?" asked Davy.

"Yes, and from the same pod."

"But are the seeds just alike?"

"They are so far as anybody can see, but when they come to grow and bloom, one may be a white rose, another pink, and another red. Some may be dwarfs in size, and others giants. All may have the same sun, the same water, the same air, and the same soil. It is only the tiny little difference which we cannot see that makes the great difference in the plant, by and by."

Davy was thinking very hard. Soon he said:

"And where do sweet and sour and all the pepper and mustard and horseradish tastes come from? The air and the water don't taste. I never tasted much dirt, but I don't believe any of it would bite like a red pepper."

The Chief Gardener laughed.

"No, Davy, I don't believe it would," he said. "And I think the sun is the only one who could answer your question. It is a chemistry which no one of this world has been able to explain. Chemistry is a magic which you will understand by and by, and you will know then that the sun is the greatest of all chemists. Suppose we go down into your gardens and see what he is doing there."

They all went down the little steps that led to the Chief Gardener's enclosure, where Prue and Davy had their gardens, side by side with his. There just as they entered was a great mass of morning-glory vines that every morning were covered with a splendor of purple, and pink, and white, and blue, and just beyond these was a mass of dianthus pinks of every hue and shade. Bachelor-buttons, petunias, and verbenas were all there, too, besides Prue's sweet-pease by the fence, and her alyssum and mignonette. Then came Davy's things, all fresh and growing, and beyond these the Chief Gardener had ever so many things, from beets to beans, from parsley to parsnips, from carrots to corn. In one small corner by the strawberry-bed there grew a little bed of pepper plants, and near-by a row of tomatoes. The Chief Gardener stopped in the midst of all these things.

"Here is the sun's chemistry," he said. "We put some tiny bits of life in the ground. The same earth holds them, the same rain wets them, the same air is above them. Then the sun shines, and with that earth and water and air and that tiny seed, it makes something different of its own. Of one it makes a flower, of another a fruit, and of another a vegetable. Of the flowers it makes many kinds and colors--of the fruits and vegetables it makes many shapes and flavors. The sweet red strawberry and the fiery red pepper grow side by side. It makes food of the roots of the beet, and the parsnip, and carrot, and of the seed of the bean, and of the corn. It fills the mustard, and the horseradish, and the pepper, with a flavor so that we may season our meats and soups, and it gives to thyme, and marjoram, and fennel, a sweet savor that is like an odor of by-gone days. Into the flowers it pours the color and perfume that make them delicious and beautiful, and into the fruit and vegetables the starch and phosphates that make them pleasant to the taste and nourishing to our bodies. Where do all these things come from? We do not see the colors, or smell the perfumes, or taste the sweet and the sour and the bitter in the air and water, and we could not see, or smell, or taste, them in the earth. Yet they must be there, and only the sun knows just how and where to find them, and how to make the best use of them for the world's good, and comfort, and happiness. Without the sun the earth would be bare and cold, and there would be no life--at least, not such life as we know. Every breath we draw, every bite we eat, every step we take, every article of clothing we wear, comes to us through the sun."

"Papa, we _can_ see the sun's colors," said Davy. "When it shines through the cut-glass berry-dish it makes all its colors on the table-cloth."

"So it does, Davy, I didn't remember that. A glass prism shows us all the colors in the sunlight, and these are the colors that it puts into the flowers and fruit--just how, I am afraid we shall never know, though like all great wonders, I suppose, it is really a very simple thing. When plants grow without sunlight, they grow without color, and it is the same with little boys and girls. Open air, sunlight, fresh water, and good food--these are what make plants and people strong and happy and beautiful."

And so June passed and half the year was gone. Prue and Davy were brown from working and playing out of doors, and were growing so fast that Davy said it was hard for his corn to keep up with him. They took great pride in the flowers and vegetables that came to the table from their gardens and always wanted them in separate dishes from those that came from the larger garden. When any of their friends came to dine with them, it was Prue's flowers that were to be worn and Davy's vegetables that were first to be served. By the end of June some of the early things were gone, and had been replanted. Other things had grown so big that they were beginning to crowd in their rows and beds, so that by the first of July, the little gardens that grew side by side, and could be seen like a picture through the windows where the winter gardens had been, reminding little Prue of Alice's garden in Wonderland, had become almost a wonderland jungle.

JULY

JULY

I

A PLANT IS DIVIDED INTO THREE PRINCIPAL PARTS

"CLASS in botany will please rise."

Davy and Prue looked up quickly from their little corner by the peach-tree. It was a warm day, and they were resting in what they called their "house," because it was a shut-in nook behind the corn, and with tall sunflowers on the other side. Just now when the Chief Gardener came upon them they were pulling some flowers to pieces and talking about them very earnestly.

"Class in botany please rise," he said again, taking a seat himself on a bench close by.

"But I can't--it's too warm," said little Prue, "and besides I've got my lap full of flowers."

"Can't the class in botany sit by the teacher?" asked Davy.

The teacher moved over. Prue gathered her dress into an apron, and presently the children were perched one on each side of the Chief Gardener, who fanned himself with his straw hat, for it was a real July day.

"We've been seeing how many of the parts of a plant we knew," said Davy. "We know all the parts, I guess, but of some plants we can't tell which are which."

"Suppose you name the parts for me," said the Chief Gardener.

"Oh, let me! Let me!" began Prue. "I asked first!"

Davy looked a little disappointed, but waited.

"Very well, suppose you try, Prue."

The little maid was excited.

"Why--why, there's the c'roller and the calyx and the pistil and the panthers, and--"

The Chief Gardener laughed in spite of himself, and Davy looked rather shocked.

"She always calls the anthers 'panthers,'" he said, sorrowfully, "and she never will say 'corolla' right."

"And those are not the parts of a plant either," added the Chief Gardener, "but the parts of a flower. A plant is divided into three principal parts. Now, Davy, it's your turn. See if you can tell me what they are."

"Well," began Davy, "the root is one."

"The root is one, Davy; quite right. Now for the others."

"The leaves are another."

"The leaves, yes, the leaves are another."

"And the flower makes three, doesn't it? But then there's the stalk, too. That makes four. There must be four parts."

"There are a great many parts," nodded the Chief Gardener, "but there are only three principal parts--the root, the stem, and the leaf. To a botanist--one who studies plants and how they grow--the flower is only a branch of the stem, and its parts are leaves."

"I suppose that is why rose-petals are called leaves," said little Prue.

"I think it is."

"But--but don't you think a flower _ought_ to be a principal part?" asked Davy.

"Well, it is in a way. It is a particular kind of a principal part, made for a special purpose. But after all, it is really a branch, for it comes from a bud, just as other branches do, and it comes just where any branch would come. Many times you cannot tell whether a bud is going to make a flower or just leaves until it opens. And there are a few queer flowers in the world that can hardly be told from leaves even after they do open."

II

THERE ARE EXOGENS AND ENDOGENS

"NOW let us tell the parts of a flower. That was what we were doing when you came up," said Davy.

"And let me tell again," said little Prue. "I know I can get them right, this time."

So little Prue told again, and got it almost right, though she did call anthers "panthers" again, just as the first time.

"Now, Davy, it's your turn," said the Chief Gardener.

Davy picked up a little pink flower which he had found in the grass. It was oxalis, or sorrel, and sometimes the children nibbled the sour leaves, calling it sour-grass. Of course, you must not forget that Davy was older than Prue, and perhaps a little more thoughtful.

"This," he began, picking off the little green flower-casing, "is the calyx, and each little piece is called a sepal. This flower has five sepals in its calyx, and five petals in its corolla. These are the petals," and he pulled out the little pink flower-leaves, and laid them by the green sepals. Then he held it up for the Chief Gardener and little Prue to see.

"Look at the stamens," he said. "They all grow together at the bottom."

"That's because your sorrel is a Monadelphian," said the Chief Gardener.

Davy looked puzzled.

"I know what a Philadelphian is," said Prue.

Davy laughed.

"The words are very much alike," smiled the Chief Gardener. "They both mean brotherhood, and come from some old Greek words. Philadelphia means brotherly love, and Monadelphia means brotherly union. You see those stamens are all brothers and are joined together as one. All plants with such stamens are called Monadelphians."

"A stamen has three parts," Davy went on, "its filament, its anther, and its pollen. The filament is the stem, the anther is its cap, and the pollen is the dust which falls on the pistil and helps to make the seed."

Very carefully Davy took away the ring of stamens, and left only the little yellowish-green center of the sorrel flower.

"This is where we get the seed," he said, as gravely as an old college professor lecturing to a class. "This is the pistil, and it has three parts, too: the pod, the style, and the stigma. The stigma is the little piece at the top which catches the pollen from the anthers. The style is the stem, and the pod is the big part below which holds the seeds."

He held up the little stripped flower again. "This pistil has five styles and five stigmas," he went on. "A good many flowers have more than one. It has ten stamens, too--two stamens for each style, and five petals and five sepals. You can divide it by five all the way through."

"Even to the seed-pod," added the Chief Gardener. "It has five divisions," and he cut the tiny green pulp and showed them with his magnifying-glass. "The little sorrel flower is one of the most perfect of flowers--one of the most perfect in a great class of flowers called Ex-o-gens. There is one other class called End-o-gens. Those words are from the Greek, too. Exogen means outward-growing. Endogen means inward-growing. The stem of an Exogen grows by layers, as most trees grow."

"Oh, yes," said Prue, "I know. We counted the rings on that big oak that was cut down over by the lake last year. It had one ring for each year."

"That's right, Prue, and the stem of the Endogen grows inside a shell, and is often just a soft pith, like the inside of a cornstalk. These are the two great classes of all flowering plants and trees. You can always tell the difference by their stems; nearly always from their leaves; always from their seeds, if you have a strong magnifying-glass, for the little germ of the Exogen has two leaves like the morning-glory, and the germ of the Endogen has but one like the lily, or corn. But the easiest way for you to tell is by the flowers. An Exogen flower nearly always goes by fives, like the little sorrel bloom, sometimes by fours, but hardly ever by threes. The Endogen flower is nearly always divided in threes, like the lily, which has six petals. It very seldom has four parts, and never five. So, you see, we know right away that the sorrel and the rose and buttercup are Exogens, and that the lily and the hyacinth and the daffodil are Endogens. Of course, there are many flowers not so easy to place as these, and I am afraid I am giving you too hard a lesson for one time, especially for such a hot day."

"But I'm not hot now," said Davy. "There's a fine breeze, and I like to sit here and talk." So they talked on about the different kinds and classes of plants, and by and by when big Prue found them, little Prue had much to tell her about all the new things she had learned. And she was careful not to pronounce anything wrong, and to explain that an Exogen was a plant that grew on the outside, and that an Endogen was another plant that grew on the inside, and big Prue said that Davy must be an Exogen, because he was getting so fat, and that little Prue must be an Endogen, because she was growing so smart. Then everything had to be told over, and then it was tea-time, with a dainty table all spread under the arbor, and delicious raspberries, and very, very delicious ice-cream.

III

I DON'T SEE WHAT WEEDS ARE FOR, ANYWAY

AND the very next day was Fourth of July, with all the fire-crackers and torpedoes and sky-rockets that always come on that day.

But there was something else. For when big Prue and the Chief Gardener come to the breakfast-table, they found that Davy and little Prue had arranged what Prue called a "susprise." The room was all red, white, and blue--not with flags or bunting, but with flowers.

There were bowls of red and white and blue morning-glories on the sideboard, and in the center of the table there was a very large bowl of red, white, and blue sweet-pease, so nicely arranged that each color was separate, and the whole looked like a cake of flowers cut in three equal parts. And there were other red and white and blue flowers, too, but the sweet-pea bowl in the center was the finest of all.