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Updated: June 3, 2025
But, one fine day, a number of little poppies and thistles and dandelions and burdocks and bell-flowers stuck their heads up above the ground in the midst of the luxuriant rye. "What's the meaning of this now?" asked the rye. "How in the world did you get here?" And the poppy looked at the bell-flower and asked: "How did you get here?"
When she complained of not being well, the sheep's-scabious and the bell-flower said that it was just the same with them. So did the blades of grass, but that did not count, for they always agreed with any one they were talking to. The moss said nothing, but that did not signify either, for nobody asked him. "We want rain," said the hazel-bush. "There's nothing else the matter.
"Well, it's pretty, and it's becoming to you." Charlotte took up the skirt, and slipped it, loud with silken whispers, over her head. It swept out around her in a great circle; she looked like a gorgeous inverted bell-flower. "It's beautiful," Rose said. Charlotte's face, gazing downward at the silken breadths, had quite its natural expression.
"Good-bye," said the wind and wanted to go on. "Wait a bit," said the poppy. "Promise me first that you won't tell the others. Else they might have the same ideas; and then there would be less room for my seeds." "I shall be silent as the grave," said the wind and ran away. "Pst! Pst!" said the bell-flower. "Have you a moment to do me a tiny service?" "All right," said the wind. "What is it?"
His nose knew the breath of a russet, and in a dark cellar he could smell out the bell-flower bin. The real poor people of the earth must be those who had no orchards; who could not clap a particular comrade of a tree on the bark and look up to see it smiling back red and yellow smiles; who could not walk down the slope and see apples lying in ridges, or pairs, or dotting the grass everywhere.
And the bell-flower and the sheep's-scabious, who had never lived through the winter, wondered if it could really be worse than this. And the linnet dreamt of the south, where he spent the winter; and the blades of grass had quite thrown up the game. "Can't your branches reach up to the sun?" asked the sheep's-scabious of the hazel-bush.
"That makes four in all," thought the wind and could not help laughing aloud. "What are you laughing at?" asked the dandelion. "I saw you whispering with the bell-flower and the poppy just now; but, if you give them the least hint, I won't tell you a thing." "What do you take me for?" said the wind. "Mum's the word! What is it you want?"
"And I understand that it is all up with a poor sheep's-scabious," said the sheep's-scabious and died then and there. Then night came and all thought that it would be their last. But, suddenly, the bell-flower raised her aching head and listened. She thought she heard a sound as when a drop falls ... now came another ... it smacked down upon a leaf ... and another ... and another....
Here the ivy-leaved bell-flower, and not far from it the common enchanter's night-shade, the silver weed, and the water-aven; and by the hedges that now and then neared the water, the guelder-rose, and the white briony, overrunning the thicket with its emerald leaves and luxuriant flowers. And here and there, silvering the bushes, the elder offered its snowy tribute to the summer.
In itself it is not much, but close beside it always grows its cousin, tall bell-flower. As the name indicates, the flowers are bell shape and I can't begin to describe their grace, beauty, and delicate blue colour. They ring my strongest call to worship. My work keeps me in the woods so much I remain there for my religion also.
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