“Where does the cactus belong, Gill?”
“In South America and the West Indies. There are ever so many sorts, but the ‘melon thistles’ are the most curious, with their deep ribs, and the spikes set all over them, and the juicy flesh that is pleasant and acid, and is eaten by the natives. There’s another species called the ‘grandiflorus.’ It is a creeping plant, and the flowers begin to open in the evening between seven and eight o’clock, and are in full bloom by eleven; but they are short-lived and fade away before the morning. It is also called the ‘night-blooming cereus.’ The calyx or cup is nearly a foot in diameter, yellow within and dark-brown without, and the petals are pure white, and the fragrance delicious.”
“That must be lovely.”
“Yes,” said Gill, “but to my eye the daisies and dandelions are just as pretty. God makes every thing beautiful.”
“Don’t you hate to pull them up?” asked little Sally.
“‘Tis not pleasant to see them withering upon the ground where they have stood upright and smiling and fresh; but then you know I must have a clean grass meadow, if I want the cows to thrive, and give rich milk and good butter. Maybe in the new earth the grass and the flowers will grow together, and not hurt, but rather help one another.”
Sally picked a golden dandelion and held it up to Gill. “It is like a little parasol,” she said.
“So it is. We never get tired of this beautiful yellow flower that dots the green. The French call it ‘dent de leon,’ or lion’s tooth, from the resemblance in the jagged leaves to the teeth of that animal. From this has come our word dandelion.”
“I hope I shall know as much as you do when I grow up, Gill,” said Ben.
“That would be little enough,” said the Scotchman. “I search the books whenever I have a minute to spare, and in that way I gather up a good deal in the course of the year; but it is as a drop in the bucket when I think how much there is yet to be learned. It is good of God to give us an eternity in which to study his works, this life is such a speck of time.”