In a pretty speech Jack told how they had heard of a grand flower show that was soon to come off in the great city, and confessed to the annoyance he and his companions felt at always being neglected on such interesting occasions, closing his long address by praying that the wild flowers might be treated with as much respect as the Pelargoniums, the Gladioluses, and all their other fashionable cousins.
Andrew heard Jack's remarks with a smile that was more sad than merry, marvelling how these innocent creatures, shut up in the heart of the wood, could have heard anything of the show.
"I have it," said he: "some gadding bee, or perhaps a gossiping sparrow, fresh from town, has carried the matter. Well, well, they must learn how profitable is content, and how foolish silly ambitions."
"My pretty dears," sighed the old man, leaning on his spade, and regarding the blossoms, "you will 'never be sorry but once, and that will be always.' As well might a fish try to live on land as you in the stifling city."
So saying, Andrew thrust his spade deep into the rich soil, disengaging the delicate roots that bound the flowers to their sylvan home.
When he had deposited as many Trilliums, Lilliums, Violets, and Anemones in his basket as he desired, the good old man proceeded to a boggy spot in the woods, and brought away with him Lady-slippers, Orchids, Pitcher-plants, Irises, Sundews, and Sweet-cicely, who wished to see the big world too.
Andrew now turned to go home, but, dear me! his work was but half done, for a butterfly, fluttering seaward, carried the news to the pine-barrens, and straightway Pyxidanthera, the beauty, cried out—and the soft sound of her crying came pitifully: "Don't leave me all alone in the pine-barrens; it is too lonely; I too would see the great world at the flower show."
"It is strange that you've never been lonesome before," thought Andrew, stooping down where the wee pink beauty sat on her mossy throne, and lifting her gently into his basket. Nor did his labors end here; for a troop of Daisies in a field near by heard the tidings, and almost burst their green jackets in impatience to be going; nor could he resist the pleadings of a band of young Buttercups, so he kindly added these to the delicate passengers in the wicker car, and hastened on. But once more his fine ear caught the sound of complaining.
Looking toward his right hand, he discovered a group of ancient Dandelions bowing their gray heads to him, and listening, heard them sighing: "Once we had tresses like the sun. Why come so late, so late?"
"Too late! too late!" chimed another voice.