17^ OUR PHLOXES AND HELIOTROPE 
Queenle’s garden is very different from my ro- 
sarium. It is merely a small patch of ground on 
which her aunt allows her to sow seeds, and this 
Queenie declares she does so the butterflies will 
come and stay near her. Nevertheless, her little 
garden is pretty, although, should I relate all the 
colours she has there crowded together, it would 
sound like a description of Joseph’s coat. I do' not, 
of course, mean any coat belonging to Little Joseph. 
Queenie thought nothing of stealing the wren’s 
egg and then breaking it. Yet she will never pick 
one of the flowers that grow in her own garden. 
She says it hurts them. We have both noticed that, 
as soon as Queenie begins to understand about a 
flower, to sow its seeds, and water and care for it 
herself, she begins to love it very dearly, almost as 
well, in fact, as she does the butterflies. To the 
flowers in her aunt’s garden, or to those on our 
triangle, she pays small attention, appearing even 
not to see them. This, I think, is because they 
are not her own, and have given her no trouble. 
She told Little Joseph that she loved the sweet- 
williams in her garden best of all, because one day 
she saw three yellow butterflies visiting them at the 
same time. She never misses seeing a pretty but- 
terfly, and I have also watched her playing with 
large, bright-coloured beetles in her hand. 
Our phloxes made Queenie open her eyes when 
she came last to see us. She called them flower 
butterflies, and I agreed with her that these plants, 
