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The Flowers. 105
“There comes my sun,” called out the narcissus,
and turned towards him, fully convinced that it was
for his sake alone that the sun rose, and shed his
light over the garden.
“Now then, bask yourselves in our splendour,”
said the sunflowers, in the firm belief that it was
they alone that lit up the day.
“Now we will put ourselves straight, and give
our shiny leaves a polish,” said the tiger-lilies, and
looked as haughtily as if they had been the lords
of the creation.
“We can scatter a golden rain,” thought the
laburnums, and waved with self-sufficiency their
richly-hung branches.
“Now, as always, we are the nobility,” said the
tulips, and mirrored their gorgeous garments in the
dewdrops.
“Ah, he has come at last, to curl our hair,”
yawned the fuchsias, when they beheld the sun.
“Those are best liked which give the most
delight,” said the roses.
Everywhere amongst the flower-beds was heard
the same voice of self-glorification, and down where
the kitchen vegetables grew it was no better.
“Our blossoms are the prettiest, and we are often
transplanted to adorn the arbour in which the
children play,” said the scarlet-runners with pride.
“We are a family with taste, and of Norman
extraction,” said the French-beans, and looked down
with contempt on their neighbours, the homely
broad-beans.
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