"It rose away down beyond that little white house on Christmas morning," said Davy, who was always up early. "I remember very well. Now it's got past the tall pine by the red barn. How much farther will it go?"
The Chief Gardener pointed to a dim pencil-mark on the window-sill.
"That was the angle of the shadow," he said, "on the twenty-first of June, and points to just where the sun will rise on the longest day of the year. You will have to be up very early to see it on that day." He pointed to another faint line. "That," he said, "was the angle on the twenty-first of December, the shortest day. The sun swings like a great pendulum from one point to the other and gives us winter and summer, and all the seasons between. Half-way between these marks is due east, and there the sun will rise on the twenty-first of March, which is the first day of spring."
"Do you think our garden things are looking at it, and wishing it would hurry and get farther toward the June mark," said little Prue.
"I think they are," the Chief Gardener answered. "They don't have eyes, as we have, but they have a way of seeing the sun, and of knowing just where it is, for most of them turn toward it as they grow, and some of them follow it all the way across the sky, from morning until night, and then turn back and wait for it to rise again. Your sunflower would do that, Prue, if it were out under the open sky."
THE VERY SMALL LETTUCE LEAVES
"Oh, it does now. I mean it looks toward the sun in the morning, with its top leaves, and keeps them turned toward it as far as it can."
"So you have noticed that, have you? Well, I'm glad, for I have read in books—books written by very wise men—that the sunflower did not really do this, but that it was just an old fable. I think those wise men, perhaps, never saw the wild western sunflowers, but only the big tame ones that have heavy, coarse stems and are so big and clumsy and fat that they couldn't well turn, even if they wanted to. I have seen whole fields of wild sunflowers—little ones like yours, and long before they were in bloom—with every stem bent toward the sunrise, when there was not a breath of wind blowing; and I have seen the same flowers straighten their little stems as the sun rose higher, and then bend them again to the west in the evening; and the little bend would be so tight and firm that you could hardly straighten the stalk without breaking it. Very wise men make mistakes sometimes, mistakes that even a little girl would not make, just because they have not happened to see something which a little girl with sharp eyes has seen and thought about. It is a wonderful and beautiful sight on the prairies of the West to see miles of wild sunflowers in full bloom. They are like a great sea of gold, and in the early morning, when the air is still, every bloom is faced toward the sunrise, as bright and fresh and faithful as the sun itself."