“Oh, it’s too bad, isn’t it, Aunt Judy,” cried No. 6, “to stop your story in the middle?”
Whereupon Aunt Judy answered that he had not stopped the story in the middle, but at the end, and she was glad he had found out the meaning of her—hm—!
But No. 6 would not be satisfied, she liked to hear the complete finish up of everything. “Did the ‘hum’s’ children ever grow up in the garden, and did they ever see the lob-worm again?”
“The—hm’s—children did spring up in the garden,” answered Aunt Judy, “and did their best to exhibit their beauty on the polished gravel-walks, where they were particularly delighted with their own appearance one May morning after a shower of rain, which had made them more prominent than usual. ‘Remember our mother’s advice,’ cried they to each other. ‘This is the happy moment! Let us hold up our heads, and do ourselves justice, my dears.’
“Scarcely were the words spoken, when a troop of rude creatures came scampering into the walk, and a particularly unfeeling monster in curls, pointed to the beautiful up-standing little—hms—and shouted, ‘Aunt Judy, look at these horrible weeds!’
“I needn’t say any more,” concluded Aunt Judy. “You know how you’ve used them; you know what you’ve done to them; you know how you’ve even wished there were no such things in the world!”
“Oh, Aunt Judy, how capital!” ejaculated No. 6, with a sigh, the sigh of exhausted amusement.
“‘The hum was a weed too, then, was it?” said No. 8. He did not quite see his way through the tale.
“It was not a weed in the meadow,” answered Aunt Judy, “where it was useful, and fed the Alderney cow. It was beautiful Grass there, and was counted as such, because that was its proper place. But when it put its nose into garden-walks, where it was not wanted, and had no business, then everybody called the beautiful Grass a weed.”
“So a weed is a vegetable out of its place, you see,” subjoined No. 5, who felt the idea to be half his own, “and it won’t do to wish there were none in the world.”