But with all her good times she did not grow proud. She was just as friendly with the Earth-worm, now when she stood so far above him, as she had been when under the ground. She often had long talks with him in the early mornings before the bees were awake. "Why don't you climb up here?" she asked him one day. "It is much nicer swaying in the wind, and I could talk to you so much more easily."

"I should grow giddy up there," answered the Earth-worm. "It is not the place for me at all. Besides, I shall be able to talk to you all through the long winter, when you are in your blankets again."

DAFFODILS

Oh the golden daffodils, That open in the spring, When gorse blooms out on all the hills, And birds begin to sing!

They nod their heads, their yellow heads, All down the garden walk; As if they wish to leave their beds, And run about, and talk.

Suppose they could! What jolly fun To see them run and play!

Like golden children from the sun, Come down to spend the day.

w.i.l.l.y WALLFLOWER

The sun shone gaily, for it was the middle of summer. The flowers in the garden made love to the bees and tossed their pretty heads at one another. Only w.i.l.l.y Wallflower stood green and straight, for his flowers had not yet come.

"Wake up, w.i.l.l.y Wallflower!" called the Roses. "It is time you showed us your flowers."

"Not yet," said w.i.l.l.y Wallflower. "They are not ready."

"How slow you are!" cried the White Lily. "If you do not hurry, the summer will be over and the bees gone. Then what will be the use of your flowers?"

"I cannot help it," said w.i.l.l.y. "I was planted late, and am now busy making my wood. I will bloom when my time comes."

The summer pa.s.sed and the autumn came, but still w.i.l.l.y Wallflower had no flowers, though he grew taller and stouter every day. Then the cold winter came. The flowers shivered themselves away to nothing, the bees took to staying in the hive all day.

The snow and ice pa.s.sed, and the keen spring winds began to blow. Now w.i.l.l.y Wallflower was ready to make his flowers. He wrapped the little buds in their warm round tunics and set them in cl.u.s.ters amongst their sheltering leaves. "Grow high and open out," he said.

Slowly they grew high, and at last one mild day they pushed aside their tunics and opened out. They were very beautiful; four red velvety petals spread widely out on each side; in the middle there were six pale yellow stamens and a fluffy double pistil-head. Below the fluffy head was the long, slender seed-case, where the tiny baby seedlings waited for the pollen grains that were to make them grow.

"Where is our pollen?" the babies cried eagerly.

"Be patient," said w.i.l.l.y Wallflower. "Soon the bees will bring it."

But the bees were long in coming. Day after day w.i.l.l.y Wallflower and the babies waited, listening anxiously for the busy wings that did not come. The honey-cups were filled with sweetest honey, the petals poured out their delicious scent into the surrounding air, but no bees appeared.

"Wait a little longer," said w.i.l.l.y Wallflower. "They will surely come soon."

In the hive the bees hung in a ma.s.s on their comb to keep warm. In the centre was the Queen; round her clung her people, row after row, all quiet and orderly, and doing their best to help one another. As the outer ones grew cold they pa.s.sed into the centre; at meal-times the inside ones pa.s.sed out the honey to the others. From mouth to mouth it was pa.s.sed till it reached the other row, everybody waiting his turn and showing no greediness. Every now and again they beat their wings to keep warm, but otherwise they were still, as they had been all the winter.

One day a warm breath of air floated in through the door. "That feels like spring!" cried the bees. "Perhaps the flowers are waking."

Scouts were sent out to see.

Soon they came back. "The crocuses and primroses are opening," they reported, "and w.i.l.l.y Wallflower is all in bloom waiting for us."

"Then let us go!" said the bees. They flew straight out to w.i.l.l.y Wallflower.

"At last! at last!" cried the wee green babies joyfully. The bees dipped deep into the sweet honey-cups, carrying the pollen from the stamens of one flower to the fluffy pistil-heads of others. Then the pollen grains ran down into the seed-cases and helped the babies to grow into seeds.

SWEET VIOLET

A little girl brought a violet plant and a pansy plant to her teacher.

"See!" said she. "These were given to me. May I grow them in school?"

"Certainly," said the teacher. "Here are two little pots. We will plant them both, and set them on the broad window-sill. You can water them each day, and we shall see how well they will grow."

"This is dreadful," said the Pansy to the Violet, as they stood side by side on the window-sill. "How shall we bear the dust and heat of this room after the fresh sweet air of the garden? I am sure I shall die."

"Oh! it is not quite so bad as that," said the Violet. "It certainly is not so pleasant as the garden, but when the window is opened one feels better."

"My leaves are covered with dust already. How is one to breathe?"

grumbled the Pansy.

"So are mine," said the Violet; "but never mind. Don't think about it.

Let us turn our attention to making our flowers."

"You don't mean to say that you think of making a flower here!" cried the Pansy. "What would be the use? You would never be able to make good seed, for no bee or b.u.t.terfly will ever find its way in amongst these close buildings."

"One never knows what may happen," said the Violet; "and it is better to be busy than to mope."

She set to work to make her flower, and took just as much care over it as if she had been out in the garden. She covered the slender stalk and pointed sepals with soft white fur, and filled her seed-box with tiny green b.a.l.l.s. Then she drew honey guides down her blue silk petals, made her pollen, and filled her quaint honey-bag with honey, just as if she expected a bee or a b.u.t.terfly at any moment.

"You are wasting your time," said the Pansy, who was doing nothing.

"I am busy, and that keeps me happy," said the Violet. She scented her petals and set their brushes on them.

"My violet has a flower on it!" cried the little girl. "Oh, how sweet it smells!" She watched the sun shining through the blue petals as the flower hung over the pot, and her eyes shone with pleasure. All through the day she turned to look at the Violet as soon as each little task was done, and at night she told her mother what had happened.

"I shall not mind if no bee finds me now," said the Violet. "My flower has given so much happiness that I am content, even if I never make good seed." The Pansy had nothing to say.

A few days later a wonderful thing happened. A bee came buzzing in at the open window and flew straight to the Violet.

"Sweet Violet," he said, "I have found you at last. Your scent came out to me as I was pa.s.sing, and I have sought for you in all the windows. Have you any honey for me?"

"Plenty!" cried the Violet joyfully. "Dip deep and take all I have, dear friend."

"Thank you," said the Bee. "I will give you some pollen from your cousins in return. They are blooming in a window-box in the next street."