FLOWER STORIES(continue)

ALL ABOUT THE SNOWDROP

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Belongs to amaryllis family.

Blossoms in early spring.

Common in gardens–grows from bulb.

Flowers generally on an umbrel–at other times single–in colour they are pure white, with drooping nodding heads. No cups for flower–three of the petals are longer than the other three. These are notched and lap over the shorter ones. Three cells to pod.

Leaves long, slender, grass-like.

THE
NARCISSUS AND THE TULIP

THE NARCISSUS AND THE TULIP

ALL IN A GARDEN FAIR

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The tulips stood up very stiff and tall. They looked neither to the left nor the right, but straight up toward the sky. They lifted their stiff petals a little higher as if shrugging their shoulders. Their stiff stalks would have broken rather than have bent.

The great yellow daffodils stood in a long golden row just across the path from the tulips. They danced and bowed and shook their fluffy heads. They nodded in a very friendly fashion to their cousins, who huddled shyly together in the corner of the garden.

Now the daffodils' cousins were the narcissus blossoms who bloomed in quiet beauty in the garden corner. They were as tall as the yellow daffodils, and more slender.

They wore lovely broad white collars, and their golden hearts were bound with dainty pink or crimson. They seemed not half as proud and stiff as the tulips, nor half as gaudy and gay as the daffodils.

Indeed, the narcissus blossoms paid little heed to the more gaudy flowers. They just bloomed in quiet and peace for those who cared for them.

Phyllis stood in the midst of the garden and listened for the faint flower voices.

"Those are cousins of mine." The daffodil spoke to a scarlet tulip, and she nodded in the direction of the narcissus blossoms.

"Do you mean that the narcissus is a relation of yours?" asked the tulip, still looking skyward.

"Yes, indeed," said the daffodil. "We do not look much alike, to be sure. But our family name is the same."

"Now that you mention it," said the tulip, "I think there is a little resemblance. You both have those long, slender stalks and those grasslike leaves. But you wear yellow while the narcissus dresses in white and gold. What is your family name?"

"Both the narcissus and myself belong to the amaryllis family," said the daffodil, proudly. "My blossoms are larger and more showy, but there are those who like my cousin's dress the better. She is called the poet's narcissus, while I am daffodil narcissus–"

"But we children have a dearer name for you," Phyllis interrupted. "We call you little daffy-down-dilly."

The daffodil shook all her many skirts out proudly in the sunshine. Then she bowed three times until her head fairly touched the ground. The tulips still stared stiffly at the sky.

"We belong to the lily family," said one tulip, after a pause. "We wear gorgeous dresses and hold our heads proudly because Mother Nature bade us do so.

"We are dear friends of those wonderful creatures, the bees. The butterflies, too, sometimes visit us."

"I think," said Phyllis, shyly, "that the butterflies must be your cousins, or, at least, you must get your dresses from the same loom."

The tulips could not bow, but one less stiff than the others actually shook so hard with laughter that a section of its dress fell off.

"What a dear little girl," said the quiet poet's narcissus from the corner. "I am glad that we live in her garden."

It was Phyllis's turn to bow and run into the house for tea.

DAFFY-DOWN-DILLY

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Poor little Daffy-down-dilly!     She slept with her head on a rose, When a sly moth-miller kissed her,     And left some dust on her nose. Poor little Daffy-down-dilly!     She woke when the clock struck ten, And hurried away to the fairy queen's ball,     Down in the shadowy glen. Poor little Daffy-down-dilly!     Right dainty was she, and fair, In her bodice of yellow satin,     And petticoat green and rare. But to look in her dew-drop mirror,     She quite forgot when she rose, And into the queen's high presence     Tripped with a spot on her nose. Then the little knight who loved her–     O, he wished that he were dead: And the queen's maid began to titter,     And tossed her saucy head. And up from her throne so stately,     The wee queen rose in her power, Just waved her light wand o'er her,     And she changed into a flower. Poor little Daffy-down-dilly!     Now in silver spring-time hours, She wakes in the sunny meadows,     She lives with other flowers. Her beautiful yellow bodice,     With green skirts wears she still; And the children seek and love her,     But they call her daffodil.