84 AN ISLAND GARDEN 



they feel the signal! A light air stirs among 

 them ; you lift your eyes, perhaps to look at a 

 rosy cloud or follow the flight of a caroling bird, 

 and when you look back again, lo ! the calyx has 

 fallen from the largest bud and lies on the 

 ground, two half transparent, light green shells, 

 leaving the flower petals wrinkled in a thousand 

 folds, just released from their close pressure. A 

 moment more and they are unclosing before your 

 eyes. They flutter out on the gentle breeze like 

 silken banners to the sun, and such a color ! 

 The orange of the Iceland Poppy is the most 

 ineffable color ; it " warms the wind " indeed ! I 

 know no tint like it; it is orange dashed with 

 carmine, most like the reddest coals of an in- 

 tensely burning fire. Look at this exquisite 

 cup : the wind has blown nearly smooth the 

 crinkled petals ; these, where they meet in the 

 centre, melt into a delicate greenish yellow. In 

 the heart of the blossom rises a round green 

 altar, its sides penciled with nine black lines, 

 and a nine-rayed star of yellow velvet clasps the 

 flat, pure green top. From the base of this altar 

 springs the wreath of stamens and anthers ; the 

 inner circle of these is generally white, the outer 

 yellow, and all held high and clear within the 

 cup. The radiant effect of this arrangement 

 against the living red cannot be told. 



The Californias put out their clean, polished, 

 pointed buds straight up to the sun from the 

 first, but all the others have this fashion of droop- 

 ing theirs till the evening before they blow. 

 There is a kind of triumph in the way they do 



