Norma’s hostess laughed. “You did not think that I could spend so many years with my flowers without finding out some of the stories that belong to them, did you? One who grows vegetables tries to discover all that can be said about them; and a bird fancier, or one who studies forestry, or bees, or insects, learns their history first; the legends and tales that belong to almost everything on earth, are read or heard, and found interesting to the fancier.”
“If there is a flower for every natal day, tell me what mine is?” said Norma eagerly, mentioning the date of her birth.
“Yours is the mignonette and it means ‘loveliness.’ Not because of the beauty of form or coloring, but because of its character and qualities. It is a constant bloomer and its perfume is so freely and generously sent forth that all may inhale and enjoy.
“In the Orient where this little flower originally came from, it is called ‘resada’ because the Orientals claim that if one stoops to inhale its fragrance as it grows upon its lowly stem it has the power to soothe any pain and drive away most sorrows.
“I never judge loveliness from looks, Norma, but from qualities. I know some folks who are so homely that the first time I met them I was sorry for them. But I soon grew to appreciate the wonderful characteristics which made them quite lovely to me. And I also have met people quite the reverse of this desirable kind.”
“What is your natal flower, Mrs. Tompkins?” questioned Norma.
Mrs. Tompkins glanced at a large garden of healthy green plants, which as yet were merely stems and foliage. Then she said sadly: “Before I lost my boy, I used to take the greatest pleasure and pride in my chrysanthemums, because we worked together and produced some remarkable specimen. Robert and I won several prizes in the New York Flower Show with our unusual chrysanthemums. But now, I just let them grow as I do the rest of the flowers. No one takes the joy and pleasure in my gardens since Robert was killed.”
Norma felt the moisture coming into her eyes for this sad mother, for she had heard from Hester, how her only brother had met his death in France during the first year of America’s war with Germany. So she could say nothing, but she waited patiently.
“I was born in October, the month of the chrysanthemum. And I was named Chrystine, too. I always admired the lovely large Oriental flowers, even before I knew they were my birth flowers. Then, when I succeeded with so many other flowers, I began to try to succeed with the imperial flowers of China. You know, do you not, that the chrysanthemum is a native of China, and not of Japan, as so many people believe?”
“No, I did not know. I, too, thought it was a Japanese native flower,” answered Norma.