“ ‘ Dear sister,’ said she, “ ‘ do not 
weep for me, for truly I am like my 
own flower. Born late, I loved late, 
but rejoice with me that I do not 
linger late.’ 
“ Her prophecy was too true, for she, 
too, like her father and mother, fell 
softly asleep, and I gathered the last 
artemesias in the garden to lay upon 
her grave.” 
“ Oh, mother,” cried an eager young 
voice, “ is that why you always will 
have those dull artemesias growing in 
the garden ? ” 
“ Yes, dear, and I hope now you 
will have a little more patience with 
them, for the sake of Miss Artemesia.” 
We are apt to associate this flower 
with cold, dull weather, flying leaves, 
and bare branches, yet it is also a 
native of Africa, where there are 
many legends connected with it, par¬ 
ticularly with the plant which bears 
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