Verotchka's Tales Part 15

[Ill.u.s.tration]

BED TIME

I

Little Verotchka's one little eye is falling asleep. Verotchka's one little ear is falling asleep.

"Father, are you here?"

"Yes, dear child."

"You know, father, I want to be a Queen."

Verotchka sleeps. She smiles as she sleeps.

There are so many flowers. All of them are smiling. They surround Verotchka's little bed; they whisper and laugh in their thin little voices.

There are crimson flowers, blue flowers, yellow flowers, azure, pink, scarlet, white, as if a rainbow, falling, struck the earth and scattered its living sparks into many-colored lights.

"Verotchka wants to be a Queen," gaily proclaimed the Field Bluebells, swaying on their thin, green stems.

"Oh, how comical she is!" whispered the modest Forget-me-nots.

"Ladies and gentlemen, this affair needs serious discussion," said the yellow Dandelion pertly.

"What does it mean to be a Queen?" asked the blue Cornflower. "I grew up in a field and I cannot understand your city ways."

"It's very simple," said the pink Carnation. "It is so simple it requires no explaining. A Queen is ... is ... is.... You don't seem to understand.... How strange you are! A Queen is like a flower, as pink as I am. In other words, Verotchka wants to be a pink Carnation. Isn't that simple?"

Everybody laughed gaily. Only the Roses were silent. They were much offended.

"Who doesn't know that the Queen of Flowers is a Rose--delicate, fragrant, marvellous? And suddenly a mere pink Carnation calls herself a Queen. It's all nonsense."

Finally one Rose grew angry and, turning scarlet, she said: "Pardon me.

Verotchka wants to be a Rose. A Rose is the Queen because everybody loves her."

"Oh, that is nice," said Dandelion, growing angry. "If that's the case, where do I come in?"

"Dandelion, please don't be angry," pleaded the Wood Bluebells. "It spoils your temper and it is very ugly to be angry. Look at us. We are silent, although we know perfectly well Verotchka wants to be a Wood Bluebell."

II

There were many flowers and they all talked calmly without arguing.

All the field flowers, Lilies-of-the-Valley, Violets, Forget-me-nots, Bluebells, Cornflowers, Field Clovers, were so very modest; while the cultivated flowers, like the Roses, Tulips, Lilies, Narcissuses, put on airs like rich children in their Sunday clothes.

Verotchka loved the modest field flowers best. Of these, she would make wreaths and bouquets for the table. They were all so nice.

"Verotchka loves us very much," whispered the Violets. "We are the first to arrive in spring. We come here as soon as the snow melts."

"And we, too," said the Lilies-of-the-Valley. "We are also spring flowers. We are not exacting; we come direct from the woods."

"It is not our fault that it is too cold for us to grow in the fields,"

complained the fragrant curly Stocks and Hyacinths. "We are only visitors here. Our native land is far away, in a warm country where there is no winter. Oh, it is so nice there! We are always longing for our native land. Your north is so cold. Verotchka loves us, and very much, too."

"It is also very nice here," argued the Field Flowers. "Of course, it is very cold at times, but it is healthy. The frost kills our bitterest enemies, worms and bugs of all kinds. If not for frost, life would be very difficult."

"We also like cold," said the Roses.

The Azaleas and Camelias agreed with this. They all liked the cold when they were through blooming.

"Ladies and gentlemen, let us talk about our native countries,"

suggested White Narcissus. "It will be so interesting. Verotchka will listen, because she loves us all."

Then they all talked together. Roses, with tears, remembered the Vale of Shiraz in Persia; the Hyacinths recalled Palestine; the Azaleas, America; the Lilies, Egypt; the flowers gathered there were from all corners of the earth and each one could tell many wonderful stories.

Most of them came from the South, where there is no winter and much sunshine.

There it is lovely--the summer is eternal. The south is full of enormous trees, wonderful birds, many b.u.t.terflies, beauties, resembling flying flowers, and flowers resembling b.u.t.terflies.

"We are only visitors here in the North. At times, we feel very cold,"

whispered all these southern flowers.

The native Field Flowers felt sorry for them. Really, it must take a good deal of patience to stand the cold north wind, the cold rain and the falling snow. Of course, the spring snow melts quickly, but it is snow, nevertheless.

"You have one great fault," exclaimed the Cornflower, after listening to all these stories. "I don't deny you are, at times, more beautiful than we, simple Field Flowers. I readily admit that, and then you, too, you are our dear visitors, but your main fault is that you grow only for the few rich, while we grow for everybody. In that we are kinder than you. For example, look at me! You will find me in the hands of every country child. Just see how much pleasure I give to the children of the poor! No one has to pay money to buy me. It takes only a walk in the woods to get me. I grow among the wheat, the rye, and the oats."

III

Little Verotchka listened and wondered at these stories of the flowers.

She longed to see everything for herself--all the wonderful countries of which the flowers spoke.

"If I were only a Swallow I would fly thither at once," said Verotchka.

"Why haven't I wings! Oh, it would be so nice to be a bird!"

She had hardly finished speaking when a little Lady Bug crept up to her,--a real Lady Bug all red with tiny black spots, a little black head, thin little black feelers and thin little black legs.

"Let us fly, Verotchka," whispered Lady Bug, twitching her feelers.

"But I have no wings, Lady Bug," said Verotchka.

"Get on my back."