2 MYSTERIES OF THE FLOWERS 



flatten my little nose against the window-pane and 

 pray that some of my young comrades might come 

 to play and enliven my loneliness. But my summer 

 days were bright and happy ones spent in a lovely 

 garden, where I grew to rejoice in the gay flowers 

 and to find entertainment in watching the bees, the 

 butterflies, and the humming-birds as they came 

 and went; and I felt weird thrills when, at dusk, 

 I caught a hazy glimpse of a spectral night-moth 

 on his rounds. 



Sniffing at the gay and sweetly scented lilies, I 

 learned that flowers produced pollen, as well as 

 honey, for I found that with it I had unwittingly 

 painted my face an orange-yellow, and then I was 

 told that the bees carried this pollen from where 

 it grew to the place where it was required; that 

 thus, and not otherwise, the seeds were made, and, 

 without bees and pollen, there would be no flowers 

 next years. 



As I grew older I extended my walks to the 

 fields and woods and included the wild-flowers in 

 my affections. Then I tried to study about them, 

 and to learn what others had learned and observed. 

 But "Botany," as they called the study, was only 

 a naming and classifying of my sylvan friends. It 

 was as unsatisfying as a glance into a pastry-cook's 

 window. It reminded me of a trip on one of the 



