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Updated: June 27, 2025
"You know I can see farther than anyone here, and it is my opinion that the Windflower is deep, and I think, too, she has a story." "A story!" cried the Pansies, turning up their pretty faces to the Hollyhock. "Oh, how interesting." "What do you mean by a story?" asked the Rosebush. "Oh, I mean she is deep and knows things of which we little dream.
The unfenced prairie billowed to the horizon a sea of green, diversified by the sky-blue waters of slough and lake, and decked with the hues of gorgeous flowers the prairie rose, fragrant, tender, elusive, and fragile as the English primrose; the blood-red tiger-lily; the brown windflower with its corn-tassel; the heavy wax cups of the sedgy water-lily, growing where wild duck flackered unafraid.
Herr von Inster looked at me with his grave shrewd ones, and said nothing. "We brought out a windflower," said Kloster, "and behold we will return with a rose. At present, Mees Chrees, you are a cross between the two. You have ceased to be a windflower, and are not yet a rose. I wager that by five o'clock the rose period will have set in."
She went up high right over Hollyhock's head." Hollyhock, who had been gazing about, lowered his head. "She is out of sight," he told the Rosebush and the Pansies. "The Wind came this morning and whispered to her, but I could not hear what he said; but she opened wide her blossom and nodded." "Now, what do you suppose there is between the Windflower and the Wind?" asked Rosebush.
One day a little Windflower growing in a garden heard the Rosebush say to the Pansies, "What a quiet little creature the Windflower is! She seems to be a modest little thing, but she never stays here long enough to get acquainted; so I do not know whether she hides her ignorance by keeping quiet or is a deep thinker." "I think she is deep, Miss Rose," said the Hollyhock, near by.
But side by side with the index he had a small tablet, and on this, every now and then, he added or erased a word to a short poem. The sense of it was something like this: Rhodocleia, flowers of spring I have woven in a ring; Take this wreath, my offering, Rhodocleia. Here's the lily, here the rose Her full chalice shall disclose; Here's narcissus wet with dew, Windflower and the violet blue.
But his startled manner caused her to lift her face from under his side-whiskers; and though the dusk was deepening, she could see that her arms were around an utter stranger. She recoiled from him with a bound, and trembling like a windflower indeed, her large blue eyes dilating at the intruder with a dismay beyond words.
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