"Oh, it's beautiful," Mother said.
"Now it's your turn, Mother, to tell a story."
"A story?"
"Yes. About the violets."
"The violets?" she said, poising her needle, musingly. "The blue, blue violets—"
"As blue as the sky, Mother," you said, softly, for it is always in the hush of the garden that the stories grow.
"As blue as the sky," she said. "Ah, yes. Well, once there wasn't a violet in the whole world."
"Nor a single star," you said, awesomely, helping her. And as you sat there listening the world grew wider and wider—for when you are a little boy the world is always just as wide as your eyes.
"Not a violet or a single star in the whole world," Mother went on. "And what do you think? They just took little bits of the blue sky and sprinkled them all over the green world, and they were the first violets."
"And the stars, Mother?"