THEN THEY WENT DOWN INTO THE STRAWBERRY PATCH
JUNE, the month of roses, and strawberries. The beautiful month when spring is just turning to summer, and summer is giving us her first rare gifts.
In Davy's garden the corn was up, and had grown more in two weeks than the corn planted in the house had grown in four. It was the long sunny days that did this, and the showers that seemed to come almost too often, but perhaps the gardens didn't think so, for they grew, and the weeds grew, too, and kept Prue and Davy busy pulling and hoeing and cultivating.
Davy's radishes were big enough to eat just a month from the day they were planted—think of it!—when those planted in the house had taken ever and ever so long. Prue's pansies and sweet-pease, and her other three "sweets" were all up, too, and so green and flourishing.
But perhaps the thing that made them both happiest, at this season, was the Chief Gardener's strawberry-patch. Either that or big Prue's roses—they were not sure which.
"When I grow up, I am going to have acres and acres of strawberries," said Davy.
"And miles and miles of roses," said Prue.
"And herds and herds of little Jersey cows that only give the richest cream," said the Chief Gardener.
"And we'll put wreaths of roses about the cows' necks," said big Prue, "and drive them home at evening, and milk the rich creamy milk and put it on the fresh strawberry shortcake, just out of the oven—"
THE CHIEF GARDENER'S STRAWBERRIES
(Members of the Rose Family)
"And eat and eat forever," interrupted Davy.
"And be happy ever after," finished little Prue.
After that nobody said anything for quite a long time—thinking how fine all that would be, when it came.
Then they went down into the strawberry-patch where the big red berries were ripening on the broad, green leaves. And little Prue and her mamma went into the house and came out with two bowls—one quite large bowl—white, with blue vines and flowers on it, and one quite small bowl—white, with blue kittens on it, chasing one another around and around on the outside.
And the Chief Gardener and big Prue picked the ripe red berries and put them in the big bowl. And Davy and little Prue picked the ripe red berries and put them into the little bowl. And sometimes the Chief Gardener would eat a berry—a real, real ripe one—just to see if they were good, he said.
And sometimes big Prue would eat a berry—a real, real little one—just to see if little berries would do for a shortcake, she said.
And sometimes little Prue would eat a berry, and sometimes Davy would eat a berry—big, big berries—just because they looked so good, and tasted so good, that a little boy and a little girl could not help eating them, even if it took some of the berries out of the shortcake they were going to have for tea.
But they didn't eat all of the berries they picked. Oh, no. They put some of the berries into the little white bowl with the blue kittens chasing one another around and around on the outside. And the Chief Gardener and big Prue put most of their berries into the big bowl with the blue flowers and vines on it. And by and by both of the bowls were full—full clear to the top and heaping—so that no more berries, not even the very little ones, would lay on.
And then big Prue took the big bowl, and little Prue the little bowl, and they went up the little garden step into the house, carrying the bowls very carefully, so as not to spill any of the red berries that were heaped up so high that no more, not even very little ones, would lay on. And the Chief Gardener and Davy followed along behind, talking of the fine June evening, and saying how long the days were now and how far to the north the sun was setting. Then they looked around at the garden, and wondered if they would have green corn by the middle of July, and when they looked under the bean vines they found that some pods were quite large, and the Chief Gardener said that by Sunday they could have beans, and pease, with lettuce and several other green things—a regular garden dinner.
And then little Prue came out and called them to come—right off. And they saw that she was dressed in a fresh white dress, and that her hair was tied with a bright blue ribbon, and her face was as rosy as a strawberry.
"We have got the deliciousest shortcake that ever was!" she called, as they came closer, "and I helped, and rolled the dough and picked over some of the berries!"
"You didn't put all the berries in," said the Chief Gardener.
"Oh, I did—I did, Papa—all but two."
BIG, BIG BERRIES THAT LOOKED SO GOOD
"And I will have those," said the Chief Gardener, and he lifted the little girl in his arms and gave her a big, big kiss, on each rosy cheek.
"I think June is the best month that ever was!" said Davy a little later, as he finished his second large piece.
"It always seems the queen month to me," said big Prue, "perhaps because it is the month of the rose—the queen of the flowers."
"Is the rose really the queen of the flowers?" asked little Prue.
"I have always heard so."
"How did she get to be queen? Did she just happen to be queen, or did the other flowers choose her?"
Little Prue's mamma looked thoughtfully out the garden window, where a great climbing rambler was a mass of red blossoms.
"Do you think any other flower could be queen over that?" she asked.
"Why, no, but—but don't folks have to choose queens, or something?"
"They do presidents," said Davy.
"I think you'll have to tell us about it," laughed the Chief Gardener. "It's your turn for a story, anyway."
So then big Prue took them all out on the wide veranda, where they could watch the sunset, that came very late now, and there she told them
II