THE FRIENDSHIP OF FLOWERS 



from your labors," cried the master of the 

 garden from his seat near the radiant phlox to the 

 worker with the watering can going to and fro after dusk 

 among the thirsty flowers. "Your garden has been 

 bought with a price of hard labor. Consider the lilies 

 of the field; who waters them*? Who hunts the red 

 spider on the wild rose"? Who traps the slug or nets the 

 butterfly on the prairies?" But the mistress of the gar- 

 den heeded not and went her way, while the listening 

 toad under the petunias, playing his tongue in a cloud 

 of gnats, blinked his bright eyes and thought nothing, 

 What was restless man to him, guardian of the domain? 



The mignonette rustled its crisp leaves in the shower 

 of cool water, the heliotrope drank greedily with its roots 

 and prided itself on the showing it had made under the 

 hot afternoon sun, and every garden thing was grateful 

 for the treat of a miniature shower on the dusty soil be- 

 fore the dews began to wash their leaves. 



In village wanderings we may discover a garden in 

 which flowers fight for existence as weeds in a wilderness. 

 It is then that we talk of them growing according to their 



