THE SEEDMAN.

New Zealand Herald, Volume LXIV, Issue 19608, 9 April 1927, Page 4 (Supplement)

THE SEEDMAN.

The seechnan stood at the corner selling his seeds. They were all arranged in boxes in front of him with little labels tied to them. There was a scarlet label tied to one box on which the seedman had written "poppies;".on a purple label, which the wind blew up aild dowh, was "pausies;" and one of the "rose" labels was pifrk, and the other one yellow. The seedman always found plenty of buyers, for no other seeds in the countryside grew as did his. It did not matter how hard the soil was, how poor, or how dry, if one of the seedinan's seeds was planted there it always grew, Somebody was coming down the road toward him. It was a little girl with the sun on her hair. Her dress was blue and sheeny, her little blue shoes had gold buckles on them, and as she came she lifted her long dress in one little hand to avoid the dust of the road. It was the Princess. "Good morning, Seedman." "Good morning, Princess." She had stepped up to his boxes and was looking at them. "I want some seeds." "What kind, Princess ?" The Princess stopped to think. "I want them to grow under my window at the palace—flowers that are little and pretty." The seedman looked at her as she stood there in the sunshine. Her eyes were very blue and there were motes of gold among her brown hair. "Pansies, Princess

"Yes, oh, yes!"— That pleased, her-* "Blue pansjes." So the Princess took her seeds and went away. Then a crowd of boys came shouting down the road, with two puppies tangling themselves among their heels. "Wo want some seeds, Seedman." "What kind !" the seed man asked them. One of them explained: "We want to start a garden—all of us —so that we can earn some money. We want to grow the kind of things that other chaps will come along and buy. You know—the things you buy in the shops—but we'll sell oura a bit cheaper so that people'll get them from us." "I know," said the seedman. So he sorted out his young plants, cabbages and beans, and peas and mint, and seeds of parsley, the very best he had, and gave them to the boys. Away they ran, puppies and all, to start tlieir garden. The next one who came was the Waif. The seedman could hear her singing, and then she came round the corner with a gust of wind. She was barefooted and dirty, her clothes were ragged, nobody cared for her —that was why people called her the Waif. But the seedman liked her. He liked - the way she sang, even when it was raining, and the way her eyes and voice stayed warm although, sometimes, her face was blue with cold. "What do you want, Waif?" he asked her, as she stopped in front of him, "Seeds—seeds that will grow into big, brave flowers." "Roses, Waif?" "No, thev have thorns." "Dahlias?" "No, I don't like dahlias." The seedman was considering, but the Waif had caught hold of the scarlet label. " 'Poppies'," sha read. "Give me some poppy seed, Seedman." So the seedman gave her some poppy seed, and then asked her: "Stay and talk to me for a little while. Waif."

rV , : "" • .... —vw >n r" "tut But she would not sitay. Her bare feet danced o£f along the road, and she did not even turn her head to call back "good-byo." . .• » * « It was a year later. The seedman was climbing the road that led up the hill. He was older now, but ho still sold seeds. Ho reached the top of the hill where the palace stood shining, and for a while he lingered there, looking over the gate toward the little Princess' window. Beneath it, beautifully blue, spread a carpet of pansies. The seedman smiled as he looked at them. "Dear little Princes," he satd. Further down the hill was a thick, fragrant, hedge. The seedman; knew that behind it was the boys' garden, and he knew that they were doing well. A dog with a waving plume of a tail rushed oat to him from: th*e gateway, and he stopped to pat it. Then he went on. Afc the bottom of th© hill he found the Waif. She was sitting in the warm grass at the roadside screaming and crying. The seedman stood quietly watching her. She saw him soon, and getting up she ran to him, sobbing. "What is the matter, Waif ?" he asked, stroking her hair. "My poppies!" she cried, and she pointed to the little bed she had dug for them at the roadsido. They lay there, some of them uprooted, some of them broken, with all their beautiful, scarlet flowers crushed into the ground. "The horses trampled on them," ehe wept. • * The seedman looked compassionately at the broken flowers. Then he took tb» Waif's hand. , , "Come with me, Waif,'J he said, "and I will give you a little plot at the back of my garden, and more poppy seeds." But the Waif shook her head. In another moment she was back kneeling be-

side her poppy bed, smoothing the earth here, lifting a fallen flower there, breaking off the crushed ones, supporting the broken plants. The seedman watched her, and smiled. "To-morrow, I shall come and build a fence around your garden so that the horses cannot trample on it," he said. The Waif raised her face and laughed. "I never saw such beautiful flowers as poppies," she said, "and these ones shan't die." Her ministering hands were there all the day, and with the night came the healing dews.