She set to work to make her flower, and took just as much care over it as if she had been out in the garden. She covered the slender stalk and pointed sepals with soft white fur, and filled her seed-box with tiny green balls. Then she drew honey guides down her blue silk petals, made her pollen, and filled her quaint honey-bag with honey, just as if she expected a bee or a butterfly at any moment.
"You are wasting your time," said the Pansy, who was doing nothing.
"I am busy, and that keeps me happy," said the Violet. She scented her petals and set their brushes on them.
"My violet has a flower on it!" cried the little girl. "Oh, how sweet it smells!" She watched the sun shining through the blue petals as the flower hung over the pot, and her eyes shone with pleasure. All through the day she turned to look at the Violet as soon as each little task was done, and at night she told her mother what had happened.
"I shall not mind if no bee finds me now," said the Violet. "My flower has given so much happiness that I am content, even if I never make good seed." The Pansy had nothing to say.
A few days later a wonderful thing happened. A bee came buzzing in at the open window and flew straight to the Violet.
"Sweet Violet," he said, "I have found you at last. Your scent came out to me as I was passing, and I have sought for you in all the windows. Have you any honey for me?"
"Plenty!" cried the Violet joyfully. "Dip deep and take all I have, dear friend."
"Thank you," said the Bee. "I will give you some pollen from your cousins in return. They are blooming in a window-box in the next street."
He brushed tiny pollen grains off his head and gave them to the Violet.