THE BASKET OF FLOWERS: Chapter 8

James and his daughter were now settled in a place they could call home; they furnished their rooms in a simple style, with nothing more than they needed for everyday wants. 

It gave Mary great pleasure in again being able to prepare her father’s meals, and to look after his comforts in every way; and together they led a life of quiet happiness. 

The good friends with whom they lived had a large garden attached to the house, but as the farmer and his wife had their time too much taken up in the field to give much care to the garden, it was of little or no use to them. 

James saw that it could be made a profitable source of income by devoting it to the growing of flowers and fruits, and when he proposed to put this plan into execution the farmer’s consent was willingly granted. 

During the autumn time, James had made his preparations, and when the warmth of spring had melted the winter snows, he began his work, assisted by Mary; together they laboured from morning to night. 

The garden was divided into beds planted with all sorts of vegetables and flowers, and bordered with gravel walks. 

The old man was anxious to see the completion of his idea, and allowed neither himself nor his daughter rest until he had stocked the garden with their favourite flowers, rose trees, tulip and lily roots, and various kinds of shrubbery. 

Mary made a special study of cultivating some rare flowers, among which were some she had never before seen in this part of the country. 

When the summer came, the garden showed such a burst of verdure and blossom, that the valley, which was overshadowed by dark trees, now assumed quite a smiling appearance. 

An orchard belonging to the farmer, which had also been taken in hand by James, soon bore evidence of his gardening skill in the shape of an abundant harvest of fruit. 

Indeed, it seemed as if the blessing of God was upon everything that James undertook. 

Settled in a comfortable home, and occupied in his favourite calling, the old gardener began to forget the troubles of the past, and to regain the cheerful humour which had made his conversation such a delight in the past. 

Once more he began to reflect upon the lessons which the flowers taught, and day by day he taught Mary some new lesson which he had learned from them. 

One day a woman from the neighbouring village came to buy some flax from the farmer and brought her little boy with her. 

While she was occupied in bargaining for the flax, her little child, finding the garden-gate open, had gone in and begun to plunder a full-blown rose bush, with the result that he scratched himself terribly with the sharp thorns. 

His mother and the farmer’s wife, as well as James and his daughter, hearing his screams of pain, ran to him. 

The child, with his little hands all covered with blood, cried out against the naughty rose bush for having attracted him by its pretty flowers and then cruelly torn his hands. 

The occasion was seized by James for drawing a lesson. “It is sometimes thus with us older children also,” he said to Mary. “Like this rose tree, every pleasure in life has its thorns. We run towards them and eagerly seize them with both hands. 

“Some are led away by a taste for the dance and theatre, others by a taste for strong drink, or still more shameful vices. But the thorns make themselves felt by and by, and then there comes lament for wasted youth, and a distaste for the pleasures once so eagerly sought. 

“Do not let us be foolishly dazzled by the beauty of the world. The chief end which man has to care for is the saving of his soul, and it is folly to give ourselves up to the enjoyment of passion. Our unceasing effort should be to use all diligence to gain eternal life.” 

One day James was employed in placing young plants in a part of the garden, while Mary was weeding a little distance from him. 

“This double labour, my child,” said her father, “represents what should be the occupation of our life. Our heart is a garden which the good God has given to us to cultivate. 

“It is necessary that we should constantly apply ourselves to cultivate the good and to extract the evil, which is too apt to take root. 

“That we may fulfil faithfully these two duties, let us implore God’s assistance and blessing, which makes the sun to shine out and the rain to fall, the plants to grow, and the fruit to ripen. 

“Then will our hearts be delightful gardens. We shall then have heaven within ourselves.” 

In this way the old man and his daughter passed through life, active and industrious in their calling, and mingling innocent pleasures and instructive conversation with their daily pursuits. 

Three years passed swiftly away, and the happy days they had spent at Pine Cottage had almost blotted out the memory of their past misfortunes. 

It was now autumn time, and the chrysanthemums, the last ornaments of the garden, were glorious in red and yellow flowers. 

The leaves of the trees had become of varied tints, and everything showed that the garden was preparing for the winter’s repose. 

James had lately begun to feel his strength failing, and the thought of his daughter’s future gave him considerable uneasiness. 

He concealed his feelings from her for fear of distressing her, but Mary observed that her father’s remarks upon the flowers were now mostly of a melancholy kind. 

One day she observed a rose-bud which had never blossomed. In attempting to gather it the leaves of the flower fell off in her hand. 

“It is the same with men,” said her father, who had been watching her. “In youth we resemble the rose newly opened, but our life fades like the rose. Almost before it is matured, it passes away. Do not pride yourself, my dear child, upon the beauty of the body. It is vain and fragile. Aim rather at beauty of soul and true piety, which will never wither.” 

One day towards evening time the old man climbed a ladder to pluck some apples, while Mary stood below with a basket to hold them. 

“How cold,” said James, “this autumn wind is as it whistles over the stubble fields and plays with the yellow leaves and my white hairs. I am in my autumn, my dear child, as you will also be some day. Try to grow like this excellent apple tree, which produces beautiful fruit and in great abundance. Try to please the Master of the great garden which is called the world.” 

On another day Mary was sowing seed for the following spring. “The day will come,” said her father, “when we shall be put in the ground, as you are putting these seeds. But let us console ourselves, my dear Mary. 

“As soon as the corn is enfolded in the earth, it is animated. It springs from the earth in the form of a beautiful flower and rises thus triumphantly from the place where it was buried. 

“So also shall we rise one day from our tombs with splendour and magnificence. When you follow me to the tomb, my dear child, do not mourn for me, but think of the future. In the flowers which you will plant on my grave, try to see the image of the resurrection and immortal life.”✿