A PANSY BED. 



There is ever so much fun in a pansy 

 bed. If you have never had one, ask your 

 papa or mamma to let you have one this 

 summer. A few dozen plants will give you 

 much pleasure. 



There are so many little faces to know 

 among them, and so many little family 

 groups. Some grin at you like monkeys, 

 others scowl, some seem to wink, some 

 smile shyly, while others are curious and 

 open-eyed. There is a white family deli- 

 cately blue-veined — Colonial Dames, I 

 call them. There are negroes of the dark- 

 est hue, Indians, and those that the sun 

 seems to have bronzed. There are groups 

 of Chinamen with their little "yellow 

 kids." Some are tattooed, and some have 

 striped skin. Many wear ruffled bonnets, 

 and some have beards. The little clusters 

 are so erect and alert on a morning after a 

 heavy dew that they seem like families off 

 for an outing or school children waiting 

 for a snap shot. There are lovely grand- 

 mothers wearing purple caps with white 

 frills, and with faces though crinkled and 

 wrinkled yet full of smiles and wis- 

 dom. There are sweethearts too, their 

 little heads close together, and they whis- 

 per, whisper when the wind goes by. 



What do you think ? One day from out 

 of my bowl of pansies which I had placed 

 on the lunch table skipped two frisky 

 "yellow kids." I discovered them hand in 

 hand skipping away. Their little figures 

 were reflected in the polished surface of 

 the table, and they seemed partners out 

 of a Virginia reel. As I put them back in 

 the bowl among their elders, I felt that I 

 had wantonly interrupted a runaway. 



Watch how the pansies love the rain ! 

 As they seem praying for it with bent 

 heads in dry weather, so they seem 

 a-quiver with thanksgiving after a 

 shower 



There are many things you can do with 

 your pansies. First, though, you must 

 love them. You must teach pussy and the 

 dog not to tramp over them. Every day 

 you must take off all the faded flowers. 



You must water them and weed them. 

 You will enjoy gathering a bouquet daily 

 for the house, and if anybody is ill, papa 

 or mamma or some one else you love, by 

 all means carry them a bunch of your 

 pansies. 



In midsummer, when the fairies have 

 pitched their tents about the sweet-scented 

 bed, the blossoms will have become so 

 many that if grandpa or grandma has a 

 birthday, you can gather seventy or eighty 

 (possibly ninety if you need so many) for 

 a birthday gift. You will not see the fair- 

 ies about the bed, for they come at mid- 

 night, but the dew-sprinkled tents are 

 there, and the cluster of toadstools that 

 the brownies like so well. 



Do not forget to give some flowers to 

 the poor children who stand outside your 

 srate, and who wish for some for their 

 very own. The children who have no 

 garden love to look at yours. 



Perhaps you have an older sister or 

 brother who paints. If so, they may like 

 some of your pansies to sketch, and to 

 keep in the house in the winter when your 

 real ones are tucked under the earth and 

 snow. 



You will find several live things in your 

 flower bed ; the bees, the butterflies, and 

 once in a while a humming-bird. Sir 

 Bumble, the bee who looks so heavy and 

 clumsy, touches lightly the pansies, and 

 the pansies like to have him about, for he 

 is so lively and cheery, so do not drive 

 him away. The light yellow and the deep 

 yellow butterflies seem like the pansies 

 themselves, flying off from their stems for 

 a journey about the country. Who knows 

 what the butterflies and the bees tell the 

 flowers, or what messages the flowers 

 send by the flying creatures that pay 

 them visits? When you have pansy 

 beds of your own perhaps you will be 

 able to write me some stories, and then 

 perhaps you can tell me what the butter- 

 flies, bees and pansies talk about. 



Grace Marion Bryant. 



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