And neither thistle nor stinging-nettle would recognize the stranger.
"That must be a kind of garden plant," said they.
And they sneered; and the plant was despised by them as being a thing out of the garden.
"Where are you coming?" cried the lofty thistles, whose leaves are all armed with thorns.
"You give yourself a good deal of space. That's all nonsense—we are not here to support you!" they grumbled.
And winter came, and snow covered the plant; but the plant imparted to the snowy covering a lustre as if the sun was shining upon it from below as from above. When spring came, the plant appeared as a blooming object, more beautiful than any production of the forest.
And now appeared on the scene the botanical professor, who could show what he was in black and white. He inspected the plant and tested it, but found it was not included in his botanical system; and he could not possibly find out to what class it belonged.
"That must be some subordinate species," he said. "I don't know it. It's not included in any system."
"Not included in any system!" repeated the thistles and the nettles.
The great trees that stood round about saw and heard it; but they said not a word, good or bad, which is the wisest thing to do for people who are stupid.