A Long “fourney 167

grew on earth. You see, the gardener
gave his whole life to them, and thought
of nothing else. Early in the morning he
was among them, and when it was dark he
sat at the door, smelling their sweetness,
and thinking of what he should do for
them in the morning. I think I have
guessed one secret of why his garden was
so wonderful. He never gathered the
blooms. The buds came, and swelled, and
opened, and when their time was come
they dropped and mingled with the earth.
And so, in the course of time, there was
not an ounce of earth in all the garden
which had not once been lovely blossom.
“You can fancy that the seeds planted
in such a soil brought forth flowers the
likes of which were never seen before.
The primrose was still a primrose—or it
would have been spoiled—but it had some-
thing of all the beautiful dead blooms out
of which it was made. And there were.
scentless things —asters, hollyhocks, and
things like that—which seemed to have