Lady Daisy, and Other Stories

It was getting dusk on a September evening when a young traveller entered the village of Seely. Foot-sore and weary, he sank upon a grassy bank to rest.

He had not been there long before a strange sound met his ears. At first it seemed to be nothing but one continued buzz. He listened closely.

What could it be?

The noise came from behind a garden wall at his back. He rose quietly, and climbing up into an oak-tree from which he could look over into that garden, he seated himself safely amongst the branches and held his breath, for--the fruit-trees and vegetables were talking! and he wished to hear what they could be saying.

"It is no use asking me this evening," said a portly Cauliflower. "My head is so heavy I cannot take my turn. Ask the Scarlet-runner."

"Me!" said the Scarlet-runner. "Don't ask me! I've been running all day, and have got to run all night, to get up to the top of these sticks. You may see by the colour of my flowers how hot and tired I am! Try the Parsley."

"I'm sure I have not a moment to tell a tale," said the Parsley. "I'm so busy curling my leaves ready to make the dishes to-morrow, for I heard the gardener tell the cook I should have a place on the table, and I like to be pretty."

"Vain creature!" said the Cauliflower. "Black Currant! what say you to taking your turn now?"

"Better not ask me," drawled the Black Currant. "You see by my dress how dismal my story would be, and as for my sisters Red and White, the birds have been pecking at them all day, till there is nothing but their stalks left. It is no use to ask them."

"I would take my turn," said a large Pear hanging against the brick wall, "but I'm so sleepy I am sure I should fall down with the exertion."

"I am longing to speak," cried a Potato from under the ground, "but I can't make my voice heard through the mould. There are many wonderful things going on down here which I, with eyes about me, can see, that you have no idea of, but I must wait till I am dug up to take my turn."

"You are all very tiresome to-night," said the Cauliflower. "I would ask the Cabbage, because I know it has a good heart, but I heard the Fig-tree say the other day it wouldn't give a fig for its stories, they are so vulgar. Who is that coughing?"

"I," said the Artichoke. "I was thinking I might be the speaker to-night; but you see I could only get half through what I had to say before I was stopped by coughing, so it's no use my trying."

"French Bean! could not you oblige us?"

"If so, I must speak in French," said the French Bean.

"Oh, that will never do!" cried several voices at once; "we cannot understand that language."

The French Bean hung its head and was silent.

"Did I not see a head peeping from that tall red pot?" said the Cauliflower. "Sea-kale! is that you? Come! it is really your turn to-night."

"No, no!" said the Sea-kale. "The gardener can force me to grow; but you can't force me to tell a story. My stories are only fit for the shells and fishes to listen to. None of you land creatures would understand them."

"_I_ could, for I--I have relations amongst the shells," said the Crab-apple proudly.

"And I'm sure I'm well known to one of the fishes," said the Fennel, "for whenever the Mackerel comes to dinner I'm always asked to meet him."

"I see we must fall back upon the Mustard and Cress," said the Cauliflower.

"Us, indeed!" cried hot angry voices from a box in a corner, "what could we tell of, who live only for a few days, and can never look over the wall? Surely the old Apple-tree who has lived for so many years, and can stretch out its branches far enough to see what is going on outside, is the one to tell us something worth listening to."

"Yes! yes! the Apple-tree!" cried all the vegetables at once, making a very loud confused noise.

"My friend," said the Apple-tree, "my fruit is blushing rosy red with the compliment you pay me. What the Mustard and Cress say is quite true. I can see the world beyond, and I have a tale to tell. It is not a merry one; but if you like to hear it you shall."

"I'm quite ready to cry," said the Onion, "so pray begin."

The Apple-tree shook off a few dead leaves and two over-ripe apples, and began as follows:--

"The earliest thing that I can remember is standing in a neat row of young apple-trees in a nursery-garden. An old gentleman came and bought me, carried me off in his carriage and had me planted here. He lived in the house you see over the wall. No, by the by, you can hardly any of you see the house till your heads are cut off and the gardener carries you through the gate; but there is a house, and I will tell you what it is like.

"It is a large white house, with a roof of gray slates. There are only three windows on this side, but then this is not the grand side. I only saw the other sides once, and that was when I was taken out of the carriage and brought round here, and I passed plenty of windows and a large house-door then. Well, for many a long year I lived a dull quiet life, seeing nobody but the gardener. When first I had apples, beautiful rosy apples, I was in hopes the old gentleman would come and see them, but no--as soon as they were ripe the gardener took them all from me, or else they fell upon the grass below, and the slugs came and ate them. At last the old gentleman died.

"I heard the gardener tell the bees this one fine morning, and he wiped the corner of his eyes with his coat sleeve as he did so, which showed he had been a good master to him. After this the place looked very lonely, with the windows of the house closed and not a creature to be seen about except the gardener, and he seldom appeared.

"A fine battle with the wind now and then was the only fun I had. It would come gently at first and rock me to and fro as if it would lull me to sleep, then, suddenly it would rush at me in all its fury and try to tear me to pieces; but although it used to bend me down almost to touch the ground, I would start up again as if I didn't mind it a bit. Somehow or other I always gained the victory, for the poor wind died away while I was the stronger and better for the fight.

"In course of time I became so stout and firm it couldn't shake me at all. When it did rise up and try to do its worst, it could only whistle round me and make my branches dance. Late one evening I was surprised by seeing a small head peering over the wall. At first there was only a pair of eyes, presently the whole head, and then the body of a small boy, who scrambled over and crept up to me.

"He got up into my branches and filled his pockets as full as they could hold. Then he slid down and climbed back over the wall by which he came.

"The next day the gardener happened to pay me a visit."

"'Holloa! who's been here?' he said; 'this won't do!' and he went to his toolhouse and took out something which he laid in the grass at my roots, and went away.

"When night came the same small head appeared again, and the boy was close upon me, when suddenly he was brought to a stand-still, and uttered a loud cry. He had been caught in a trap, and the harder he tried to get out the faster he was held, and there he stayed till the gardener came and gave him a good thrashing. You may be sure I never saw that little boy again!

"Autumn, winter, and spring, all passed away very quietly, and then came a stir in the place. Windows were opened; workmen began to hammer and paint; the gardener made the walks and borders all so neat and trim; and one fine afternoon a carriage covered with boxes drove up to the door. Then the bustle was greater than ever. Servants ran about, horses clattered in the yard, dogs barked, and children's voices were louder than all. The next morning the garden gate opened and a lady and gentleman walked in, arm in arm, followed by two fine-grown lads.

"They paced round the gravel walks, then came up to me and admired my beautiful blossoms. Then and there the gentleman told the boys they should each have a garden of their own, and he pointed to the piece of ground by the Sweet-brier, and made the gardener divide it into two equal portions. After this the boys seemed to live out of doors.

"I soon found out that their names were 'Richard' and 'Joe,' although they called one another 'Dick' and 'Joey.' They dug, and planted, and sowed, and watered from morning till evening. The poor little trembling plants did not know what to be about. If they came above the ground, as often as not they were plucked up and thrown upon the dirt-heap as weeds. If they stayed below, the mould was grubbed up to see why they were so long coming. These boys often quarrelled, but their quarrels did not last long. They would begin with hard words, then go on to throwing mud and stones upon one another's ground; at last it would come to fighting, till Joey burst out crying, when they made up and were good friends again.

"What I did feel pity for was that poor old Pump at the end of the terrace walk. She was once a tidy-looking, green-coloured, upright Pump, with a stone basin to catch the water.