I 
THE GARDEN 
33 
show pansies, and I knew the expression in 
their faces that the various markings gave 
them until they were as familiar as friends. 
One yellow one I was almost afraid of—its face 
was so cross, I fancied I could see the frown, 
and another soft gray one with a small eye 
seemed always smiling and kind. There was 
practical work to do in plenty. I was careful 
to save my own seeds, and the slugs did their 
best to prevent me, so I invented the plan of 
putting white paper collars round the flower 
which I wished to save, to stop the upward 
progress of the slug. Then I amused myself 
by doing some of the other insects’ work, which 
I will tell you more about further on, and with 
a paint-brush out of my sixpenny colour-box 
used to take the pollen from one plant to 
another; the reds I took to the yellows in the 
vain hope of producing a scarlet pansy, but 
was more lucky with the crosses among the 
darkest shades, and produced a really jet black 
pansy. This was named “.the velvet paw,” as 
it was as black and soft-looking as our black 
cat’s paw. 
Almost any flower will furnish as much 
amusement as did my pansies. My mother 
has often told me of her success as a small 
child with her auriculas, “ dusty millers ” or 
“ bears’ ears,” and any child who cares for 
D 
