“You are a King, Philippe. Sun, Moon, and Stars shine down upon your head a crown; the whole earth is yours, the great strong chest of hidden treasures. From the time the first small star hung like a lonely spark in space, your servants have been preparing for you a kingdom, the kingdom of Earth, than which there is only one greater. And that kingdom, too, will be yours some day if you rule wisely and well in this, and are kind, and strong-and gentle.”
“It may be true,” said Philippe, rather bewildered by the wonderful things he was hearing. “But I am quite sure that I have no servants; why—little though I am, even I must help my father in the fields.”
“We are all your servants. Is it not true, Grandmother Rain?”
A shower suddenly passed over the garden, decking the flowers in crystal splendor, and from a small cloud overhead Philippe could distinctly hear the voice of Grandmother: “Yes. I have worked for Philippe’s father and his grandfathers from the very beginning of things, and I hope to work for his children and his childrens’ children for time evermore. Do not think badly of me, Philippe, if I do not come and go just to your liking, for I am very busy, with much important work to attend to.”
“Is it not true, Grandfather Snow?”
“Aye, so it is!” came a voice from the bright hill beyond the garden wall.
“Is it not true, Uncle Wind?”
“Well, well! I am just in time,” remarked Uncle Wind, sauntering up the garden path, the flowers nodding to him as he passed. He had cast aside his great cloak, but even then looked a little warm. “Just wandered up from the Southlands,” he continued. “Yes, my little darling, it is true enough what you are telling Philippe, but of course we are not to be bossed about like ordinary servants; we serve and yet we keep our independence; we have been at our various tasks so long that we know exactly what to do without being told, and if we seem a little lazy at times, or a little too enthusiastic at others, remember that we may have our own very good reasons. Yes, indeed,” he went on, commencing to bluster a bit, “there are often reasons hidden in the strangest things we do. Did I ever tell you how once I mussed up the hair of a prince and ran off with the parasol of a duchess——”
“The wind is capable of being a little monotonous at times,” Avril whispered into Philippe’s ear, but he could hardly hear her, for the garden was being filled with other voices, coming from here, there, and everywhere—from the grass, and the flowers, and the vegetables, and the trees, from the stones, and even from the brown earth itself, and they all were saying in their own way, the one thing: “We serve!”
“Please listen to us a moment,” pleaded the fragile voices of the flowers. “We serve too, though many consider us too delicate and concerned about our own looks to be of much use. But do not forget us, Philippe! Do not forget us when you are grown up and your mind is crowded with worries and cares and a lot of things that will seem more important to you than they really are. Keep a place for us in your mind and heart, and we will repay you in our mysterious way a hundredfold and more. Do as we ask; treasure beauty, purity, and truth—for though you may love us now, you will not understand the full importance of our message until you have grown up. Do not forget——”