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III
ALL THANKS FOR THE PLANTS

Thanksgiving brought the usual good dinner, and upon the table and the sideboard there were many things to remind the little family of their garden and their summer-time. There was a large plate of red apples and a dish of nuts, and there was a pot of pinks, which Prue had saved for her window-garden. Then there was a fine little jar of pickles, made from Davy's tomatoes, besides dishes of tomatoes and turnips, all from the little garden that had come and gone, leaving these good things and many pleasant memories behind.

And after the dinner was over, and the pudding eaten and the nuts passed, the little family sat around the table to talk, as they often did.

"I am sure we have a great deal to be thankful for this year," said big Prue. "Two such nice healthy children, with plenty to eat and wear, and a fire to keep us warm, and a good roof over our heads."

"And all from the plants," said the Chief Gardener. "If we are thankful for the plants, we are thankful for almost everything we have."

Davy sat thinking silently about this, but little Prue did not quite understand.

"I suppose you mean that the plants made us healthy to work in them," she said.

"I mean that, and I mean a great many other things. In the first place, plants furnish all the food in the world. Not only the vegetables, but the animal-food. Our turkey would not have been here to-day if he had not been fed on grain, and even the oysters must live from a sort of plant-food in the sea. Every creature that walks or flies or swims lives either on plants themselves or from some creature that does live on them."

"Do sharks live on plants, too?" asked Prue.

"Of course!" said Davy. "Sharks eat men, and men eat plants."

"I don't suppose sharks live altogether on men," laughed big Prue, "and the little fish they eat may live on other little fish, but if you go far enough you will find that somewhere the beginning is plant-life."

"Plants also warm and light us," went on the Chief Gardener. "Every stick of wood, or bit of coal, or drop of oil we burn, comes from plant-life. The coal was vegetation long ago – very long ago – and the heat and light that come from it were stored there in that far-away time by the green leaves that drew in life and light from the sunbeams."

"Do the leaves really take up light?" asked Davy.

"They really do. With every particle of vegetable matter that is made, a portion of the sun's heat and light is laid up in it. The light is still in the coal, though it looks so black. We have only to burn it, to get back the sunlight."

That was a very wonderful thought to the children, and they had to talk about it a great deal before the Chief Gardener went on.

"Every bit of clothing we wear comes from the plants," he said at last. "The cotton grows like the down about the thistle seed, and the wool that grows on the sheep's back is there because the sheep feeds on the green grass in summer and upon hay and grain in the winter-time. Silk is made by worms from mulberry leaves, linen is from the flax plant, and leather from the cattle that grow in the same way that the sheep grows.

"Then there is our house. A great deal of it is made from wood, and even the bricks have vegetable matter in them, while the stones are shaped by tools that have wooden handles, and the bricks and stones are hauled in wooden carts."

"But the iron doesn't grow, Papa," said little Prue.

"No, but without heat to forge it – heat that comes from wood and coal – it would be of no use."

"But there is one other thing that is more to us than all the rest. Plants purify the air we breathe. Air that we have breathed once is not fit for us again. We have used the oxygen from it, and turned it into carbonic acid gas. But carbonic acid gas is just what the plants need, so they take our breathed air and turn it into oxygen again and give it back to us fresh and pure, so that we can keep our life and health."

"Don't forget the flowers, Papa," said little Prue.

"I haven't forgotten them. If it were not for the flowers many of the plants would die out, and besides being so useful, the flowers feed the bees and make the world beautiful, and our lives happier and sweeter, by filling them with color and perfume and loveliness. No, I could hardly forget the flowers, Prue. They are the crowning glory of the plants that feed and clothe and warm and shelter us. So let us be thankful for the plants, every part of them, and especially for the flowers."

"We ought to be thankful for the sun that makes them grow, too," said Davy.

"And we must not forget the One to whom all thanks are due," added his mother.

And as the November day closed in they gathered around the big open fire, and were happy and cheerful in the blaze of the same sunbeams that had shone on the great forests which had perished so many ages ago.

DECEMBER

I
NEW GARDENS IN THE WINDOWS

DECEMBER was a month for putting things away. The envelopes of seeds which Davy and Prue and the Chief Gardener had gathered were all put into separate tin boxes, and these boxes were put in a dry place on the top cupboard shelf, where they would not be disturbed. The bulbs and roots were also put into dry boxes in the basement, and the different kinds labelled in large plain letters by Davy, who could print very nicely indeed.

The bulbs were quite interesting. Some, like those of the Easter lily, had small bulbs formed inside of them. Others, like the crocus, had tiny bulbs formed on the outside, and then there were bulblets which had formed above the ground, just where the leaf joins the stalk. These were little lily bulbs.

So all the seeds and bulbs and roots were put away for the winter, except a few that Davy and Prue planted in some pots for their window-gardens.

They decided to have different things this year. Instead of scarlet runners to climb on the sides of his window, Davy had decided to have melon vines. His cantaloupes had not done very well in the garden, for the reason that the pumpkin had sent its long tendrils across the cantaloupe bed, and the pollen had been carried from the flowers of one to the other by the busy bees, and this caused all his cantaloupes to have a flavor of pumpkin. Davy had eaten them, though, and even little Prue had said they were not so very bad, and had really eaten nearly all of one piece. Now, Davy was going to have two cantaloupe vines, and let them climb on each side of his window, and see if he couldn't raise some melons that folks would be glad to get a piece of.

In the middle of his window he was going to have an eggplant, which he very much wanted to try, and in the little pots at the sides, there were to be a peanut, which he wanted to try, too, and a special little red pepper which had looked very nice in the seed-catalogue. Then there were two little pots, one holding a small turnip and the other a radish, which Davy wanted to see bloom and go to seed.

So, you see, Davy's garden was going to be quite different this year, and Prue's was different, too. For Prue did not have morning-glories to climb, this winter. Not because she did not like them, but because she wanted her window, like Davy's, to be different from the window of the winter before. She had a cypress vine planted this year, on one side, and a moon vine on the other. And in the center of her window, she was to have a cosmos flower, with a fuchsia and a hyacinth and a tulip at the sides, and one of her precious pinks brought in from the summer garden. Of course, the tulip and the hyacinth were to grow from little bulbs, while the fuchsia was a small plant which she had bought at the greenhouse. And in this way both the windows were to be very different from the winter before, and many new things were to be learned in seeing the seeds and the bulbs and the roots sprout and grow and bloom.

And there was one thing more which was to be different, for Prue and Davy had put their money together and bought a Japanese fern-ball to hang between the windows, and a hook to hang it on. The ball they soaked in warm water, as the directions had said, and then hung it on the hook. As often as it seemed dry they soaked it again, and one day it was sending out little green points, and soon, even before the rest of their window-garden was fairly started, there were feathery little fern leaves all over the ball, and before Christmas it was very beautiful indeed.

II
TO THE GARDEN OF SLEEP

December was not a very bright month for Davy and Prue. Very little snow fell, so they could not use their sleds. If it had not been for their gardens and their lessons, which took several hours each day, they would have been rather lonely, looking out on brown woods and meadows.

But there was the joy of Christmas coming, and this thought made them happier, as each day brought it nearer. They counted the weeks first, then the days, and at last the hours. And then they had secrets. Secrets from big Prue and the Chief Gardener, and secrets from each other. Sometimes little Prue whispered to big Prue, and did not want Davy to hear. Sometimes Davy whispered to the Chief Gardener, and stopped very quick and began to whistle, if Prue came into the room. Packages began to be brought in after dark, or when everybody else was upstairs, and then, one afternoon – the afternoon of that wonderful eve when stillness and mystery seem to gather on the fields – there was a row of stockings along the mantel, hanging ready for somebody to fill. Santa Claus, of course, must do that, but there were packages hidden here and there for the good old Saint to find and put where they belonged. And Prue and Davy were in bed almost before dark, because you see the time passes quicker if you are asleep, and the sooner to bed the sooner to sleep. But when big Prue came in to kiss them good-night she told them a story – the old sweet story of the Little Child who was born so long ago, and to whom the first gifts were brought by the wise men. And then she told how that little baby boy in the manger had become a sweet child, with games and playmates like other children, with toys and, perhaps, a little garden of his own, something as they had made during the summer-time. And she told also a little story which, perhaps, is only a story, but it is what it would seem might have happened to the Little Child of Bethlehem.

"Once," she said, "when he was playing he grew very tired and thirsty, and his playmate was very thirsty, too. So Jesus ran to the well for a cup of water, and hurried back with it without stopping to drink. But his playmate was greedy, for he seized the cup and drank it all, except a few drops at the bottom. Then he gave the empty cup to Jesus, who took it and let the last few drops fall on the grass, when suddenly from where they fell there flowed a little clear stream of water, with lilies-of-the-valley blooming along its banks."

"Please sing the verse about the story of old," said Davy, when she had finished.

So his mother sang:

 
"I think, when I read that sweet story of old,
How Jesus was here among men,
How he called little children as lambs to his fold,
I should like to have been with them then."
 

And it was only a moment longer that the Christmas Saint had to wait on the sand-man, for presently the door closed softly on the singer. Davy and Prue had entered the fair garden of sleep.

III
IN THE GARDENS OF CHRISTMAS

I cannot tell you all the wonders of that Christmas. I can only tell you that the presents which the little family had bought for one another were all in their proper places next morning, and that there were ever so many things that nobody but Santa Claus could possibly have brought. There was a Christmas tree, for one thing, the kind of a tree that nobody but Santa Claus ever raises, or brings, and there was everything upon it and about it that a little boy and girl could want, unless they wanted a great deal more than a little boy and girl ought to have, at one time.

But the very finest Christmas gift of all was a splendid great big snow-storm, which had begun in the night and was still going on, as fast and as thick as the big, soft, fleecy flakes could fall. Every few minutes the children left the beautiful tree to look at the beautiful snow. They could hardly wait until breakfast was over, and the Chief Gardener had made a photograph of the tree with them in it, before they wanted to rush out with their sleds.

All at once Davy called Prue to the window.

"Look," he said, "some of these flakes on the window-sash are like little white flowers!"

Then every one came to see, and, sure enough, some of the snowflakes that had fallen next to the glass were wonderfully shaped, and did look like tiny blossoms. The Chief Gardener got a magnifying-glass and they looked at them through it, when they saw how really beautiful they were.

"I have heard them called 'the flowers of winter,'" said big Prue. "There is a little story about how the flowers complained that they must all die when cold weather came, and never see the winter. So then their spirits were allowed to come back as snowflakes."

That was a glorious Christmas. All day the snow came down outside, and all day the big fire blazed and the Christmas tree gleamed and shimmered and sparkled inside. And then, in the afternoon, there was a Christmas dinner which was quite as good as any of the rest of the things, even to the snow. And after the dinner was over, and they sat around the fire, the Chief Gardener said:

"We have had a happy year. I know it has been happy, for the time has gone so fast. It seems not more than a few weeks ago that we were keeping last Christmas, and almost no time at all since Prue and Davy started their first little gardens in the window. Yet, a week from to-day, and that will be a year ago, too. Now, I have a plan. It was Prue who made me think of it. She said something not long ago that I made into a little verse, about annuals, biennials, and perennials. Then Prue made one, too, about herbs and shrubs and trees. Now I propose that we each make some rhymes for New Year's day to celebrate the starting of the window-garden, and also the little garden which Prue and Davy had outside. The rhymes must tell something that has been learned during the year, and they must be short, and easy to remember. Of course, we won't expect very much, but Prue has done so well, that I am sure the rest of us can do something, too."

"I never made any rhymes," said Davy.

"I'll help you," said Prue. "It's just as easy."

So they all agreed, and during the holidays, when the children were not busy with their sleds or books or gardens, they were making rhymes.

IV
SOME VERSES AND THEN GOOD-BY

And these are the rhymes that were read and recited after dinner on New Year's day, just a year after the first little window-garden was started. I shall not tell you whose they were.

Of course, you will all remember little Prue's:

 
"The kinds of plants are these,
Herbs and shrubs, and trees,"
 

and the Chief Gardener's:

 
"The annuals we plant each spring —
They perish in the fall;
Biennials die the second year,
Perennials not at all,"
 

but the writers of the others you will have to guess.

THE PLANT

 
The parts of every plant are three —
The root, and stem, and leaf they be.
The flowers are only leaves more fair,
Which nature makes, to bloom and bear.
 

THE ROOT

 
Most roots are hidden in the ground,
As they should always be, by rights,
But some in other plants are found,
And these belong to parasites.
 

THE STEM

 
The stem may be a stalk or vine
To stand erect, or creep, or twine —
For frailest plant, or firmest oak
That's ne'er by storm of winter broke.
 

THE LEAF

 
A leaf has a stem, and of stipules a pair,
Though the stipules are often quite small, or not there.
A leaf has a blade, and of ribs one or more;
While of veins and of veinlets it has many score.
A leaf may be simple, or it may be compound,
And a million small pores for its breathing are found.
 

THE FLOWER

 
The blossom has a calyx
That is very often green,
And just above the sepals
The corolla bright is seen.
And above the pretty petals
May be stamens eight or nine —
Slender filaments, and anthers,
To hold the pollen fine.
While in the blossom's center
Doth the sturdy pistil grow,
With stigma and with style that lead
To seed-cups just below.
 

HOW PLANTS INCREASE

 
From seed and from runner, from stolon bent low —
From sucker and slip and from layer they grow —
From bulb and from bulblet – from tuber and root,
They give us the flower and the grain and the fruit.
 
 
All thanks to the plants for the clothes that we wear —
The food that we eat and the home that we share —
For the air that we breathe and the fuel we burn —
All thanks to the plants, 'tis our only return.
 

Davy rather objected to the last line of these verses. He said that it was some return to take good care of plants, especially in the hot summer-time, when it was ever so much nicer to sit in the shade. So another little rhyme was made, like this:

 
A plant should have the sun and air
And water, and the proper care.
If it has these, and doesn't die,
We'll reap the harvest, by and by.
 

Then to end the day they all sang a little song about the snowflakes, that Jack Frost sends out of his gardens of winter-time:

THE SNOWFLAKES

 
Jack Frost, he makes the snowflakes,
He paints the snowflakes white.
He sent them Christmas morning
To make our landscape bright.
 
 
For in the deepest winter
The world is bleak and bare —
Jack Frost, he sends the snowflakes
To make our winter fair.
 

And so ends the story of a year, and of its little gardens. Also of Prue and Davy, who owned the little gardens, and of her who was called big Prue and of him who was called the Chief Gardener. Other years will bring other gardens, and other summers. Prue and Davy will grow older, and learn more and more with each year that passes. But no year will ever be happier and no gardens ever brighter than those to which we are now saying good-by.