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Updated: June 1, 2025
I sprinkled water, and took the body, the corpse, to the garden to hide it. I buried it under a strawberry-plant. It will never be found. Every day I can eat a strawberry from that plant. How one can enjoy life, when one knows how! My servant cried; he thought his bird flown. How could he suspect me? Ah! August 25. I must kill a man! I must! August 30. It is done. But what a little thing!
But he was mistaken; instead of Martin and John, Malachi Bone made his appearance, and, to their surprise, he was accompanied by his young squaw, the Strawberry-Plant. Everyone rose to welcome them, and the Misses Percival went to their little female acquaintance, and would have made her sit down with them, but she refused, and took her seat on the floor near the fire.
"But I almost think it has got a still nicer flavour by growing up here in you, you old Willow-Tree." "My dear Blackbird," said the strawberry-plant, "you're often at the manor-house. Won't you do me the favour to tell the squire that I am growing up here?" "That I will certainly not do," said the blackbird.
As Captain Sinclair interpreted, the Indian girl pronounced after him the names of Mary and Emma very distinctly. "She has your names you perceive; her own, translated into English, is the Strawberry-plant." They then nodded farewell to the young Indian, and returned home.
Captain Sinclair gave the message and the ornament to the Indian girl, who replied, as she looked up and smiled at Emma, "That she would never forget the beautiful lily who was so kind to the little strawberry-plant." "Really her language is poetical and beautiful," observed Mary; "I have nothing to give her Oh! yes, I have; here is my ivory needle-case, with some needles in it.
"I have the highest opinion of you," said the willow-tree. "But you are still so small. May I ask your name?" "I am a strawberry-plant," said the sprout. "And one of the best. My own idea is that I am the equal of those which grow in the manor-garden. Just wait till I get my fruit: then we shall see." "Goodness me!" said the willow-tree. "If I could only understand where you came from!"
The garden up at the top was scattered by the wind in every direction: the black-currant-bush and the strawberry-plant, the mountain-ash and the little oak, the dandelions and the violets all blew away; and nobody knows what has become of them since. The earth-worm lay just below and wriggled: "I can't stand this," he said. "Let them chop me into two ... into three.... But this is worse.
To be sure, he would have gathered his harvest in no matter what corner of the world, provided he had found within his reach, in whatever sphere of life he had been placed, any subject of inquiry whatever; such was Rousseau, botanizing over the bunch of chickweed provided for his canary; such was Bernardin Saint-Pierre, discovering a world in a strawberry-plant which had sprouted by chance at the corner of his window.
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