ONCE UPON A TIME.
Aviation.
Once upon a time there was a little primrose who grew all alone on a sunny bank. All around her were primroses in clusters, but she was a solitary flower.
Having no brothers or sisters to talk to and no very near neighbours, she made a confidant of a bee, who would often sit with her for several minutes at a time. He was brusque and opinionated, but he was wise too, and, having wings, knew the world; and she never tired of hearing of his travels.
He told her of gardens where flowers of every kind and sweetness bloomed. "Not like you," he said—"not wild flowers that no one values, but choice, wonderful, aristocratic flowers that are picked out of catalogues and cost money and need attention from a gardener."
"What is a gardener?" the primrose asked.
"A gardener is a man who does nothing but look after flowers," said the bee. "He brings them water and picks off the dead leaves, and all the time he is thinking how to make them more beautiful."
"How splendid!" said the primrose.
And the bee told her of the houses in these gardens, with pleasant sunny rooms, and pictures, and flowers in vases to cheer the eyes of the rich people who lived there.
"How splendid!" said the primrose again. "I wish I could see it all. I should love to be in a vase in a beautiful room and be admired by rich people."
"You're too simple," said the bee. "You haven't a chance. You've got to stay where you are till you die."
"Why shouldn't I have wings like you?" said the primrose.
"How absurd!" replied the bee as he flew away.
But the next day the primrose looked up and saw a most wonderful thing. A primrose that really had wings! A flying primrose! A primrose that could go anywhere just like the bee. It darted hither and thither so gaily, alighting where it wished and then soaring up again right into the blue sky above the earth.
The solitary primrose called to it, but it did not hear, and was soon out of sight.
"So primroses needn't always stop where they are till they die," she said to herself. "Why did the bee deceive me? If I were like that I could see the garden and the gardener and the pretty gay sitting-rooms and the rich people."
She waited impatiently for the bee's return, and when he came she told him about the aviator.
"He was so splendid," she said, "so big and strong, and he flew beautifully. How can I get wings, too?"
"Pooh!" said the bee. "That wasn't a primrose. That was a brimstone butterfly; and as for flying—why, he can't compare with me. I could beat him every time: hundred yards, quarter-mile, mile, long distance—everything."
"He looked just like a wonderful big primrose," said the solitary flower wistfully.
"That's because you've got only one eye," said the bee. "He was a butterfly right enough;" and he hurried away laughing at the silliness of her mistake.
But that day the little primrose had part of her wish; for a party of children came into her corner of the wood and began to pick the flowers with cries of delight.
"Here's one all alone!" said a small girl. "I shall pick that for mother." Straightway the primrose was torn from its root and held tightly in a hand which was far too hot to be pleasant.
Down the road the children went, and the primrose looked as well as she could at the hedges and the trees.
"So this is the world," she said to herself. "It seems really interesting, but I should like it better if I didn't feel so faint."
At last they came to a garden gate and passed through it, up a long path, with strange flowers on each side, which the primrose saw mistily, for she was now really ill.
"I am sure it is all very beautiful," she murmured, "but I know I shall die if I don't have some water soon."
And then they entered a room, and the little girl hurried up to a lady and gave her the solitary primrose. "It was growing all alone," she said, "so I brought it for you."
"Put it into a vase at once," said the mother, "or it will die." And the primrose was placed in water, and at once began to revive.
Then she looked about her and saw what a nice room it was, and was happy.
The next morning in came the bee with a great fluster and bumped all over the room.
"Hullo," he said to the little primrose, "you here?"
She told him all her adventures.
"Well, what I said is right, isn't it?" the bee remarked. "It's all very jolly here, isn't it?"
"I suppose so, but I wish I didn't feel so weak. I never had an ache when I was in the wood."
"Ah, but you weren't among the nobs then," said the bee; "make the most of your time while you're here, for it won't be for long, you know."
"Come and see me to-morrow," the little primrose whimpered. "I feel so lonely here. I was happier in the wood."
"You won't be alive to-morrow," said the bee cheerily. "But never mind, you have seen the world." And out he bashed again, blowing his motor-horn to clear the way.
