Words of Cheer for the Tempted, the Toiling, and the Sorrowing

by T. S. Arthur

But the other plants were silent and dejected; all but the Amaranth, who knew herself gifted with immortality, and the Box, who was very stoical. But another trial awaited the poor Poppy.

The Nightshade had hardly ceased speaking, when soft, gentle human voices were heard in the garden, and a child of three summers, with rosy cheeks, deep blue eyes, and flowing, golden hair, came bounding down the gravelled walks, followed by a fair lady. The child had come to bid good morning to her flowers and birds, and as she carolled to the latter, and paused now and then to inhale the breath of some fragrant blossom, and examine the elegant form and rich and varied tints of another, the little songsters sang more loudly and cheerily; and the flowers, it seemed, became more sweet and beautiful.

The Poppy, who was as ignorant as was any one else how she had found her way into the garden, now began to reason with herself.

"Some one must have planted me here," she said; "and though I am not as sweet as that proud Carnation, nor so elegant as that dignified Dahlia, I may have as much right to remain here as they!" and she raised her head erect, and spread out her broad, scarlet petals, with their deep, ragged fringe, hoping to attract the notice of the little girl.

And so indeed she did; for as the child paused before pale sweet-scented Verbena, the flaunting Poppy caught her eye, and she extended her hand toward the strange blossom.

"Carie, Carie, don't touch that vile thing!" said her mother, "it is poisonous. The smell of it will make you sick. I do not see how it came here. John must bring his spade and take it up. We will have nothing in the garden but what is beautiful or sweet, and this is neither!"

The poor Poppy! She had begun to love the little girl, the child had smiled on her so sweetly, and the other flowers had seemed so envious when that little white hand was stretched out towards her; and when she drew back, at her Mother's call, reluctantly, but with look of surprise and aversion, the Poppy did not care how soon she was banished from a place where she had been treated so unjustly.

However, she was suffered to remain; whether the lady neglected giving instructions to the gardener respecting her, or whether he forgot her commands, I am not sure; but there she remained, day after day, striving every morning to wake up early and pull off her little green cap before the other flowers had opened their eyes, but never succeeding in so doing.

It was no enviable position that she occupied, laughed at, despised, and scorned by all the other flowers in the garden, and in hourly expectation of being torn up by the roots and thrown into the street—the poor Poppy!

One day when the lady and her Carie were walking in the garden, the little girl, who had looked rather pale, put her hands suddenly to her head, and cried aloud. Her mother was very much frightened. She caught up the little girl in her arms, and tried to ascertain what was the matter; but the child only pressed her hands more tightly to her head, and cried more piteously. The lady carried her into the house, and the family were soon all in an uproar. The servants were all running hither and thither; no one seemed to know what was the matter; for the lady had fainted from terror at her child's pale face and agonized cries, and the little girl could tell nothing.