Evening star., 1896-01-04
THE LEGEND OF THE GARDENER
BY BEATRICE HARRADEN.
Copyright, 1895, by Beatrice Harraden.)

~-~N-~N~--'
There was once, in the ages gone by. a
gardener Of rare patience and discernment
He would go out into wild places, and,
STOPPING down, would detect some tiny
plant of no moment to careless eyes, and
would bring it home to his garden, and
tend it with such loving care that it would
gain strength and beauty. surprising him
and gratifying him with it's generous re-
sponse to his tender fostering.
People heard of his beautiful plants and
came to his garden.
"Ah, you indeed have a rare plant here!'
they would say, pointing to one Of his
treasures. THAT must be priceless in its
worth"
mo, indeed" ne answered; cit is just a
wild flower, nothing more. There are thou
sands like it."
But if we bring the wild flowers home
they will die," they answered. How is
that?"
"I cannot TELL" he said. unless 1t is that
care so much, and that I have put my
very hearts desire into the tending which
I give them day after day and week after
week"
Now, one day the gardener was in trou-
BILE; great sorrows had encompassed him
and the bright light had faded from his
life. 1t was nothing to him that his gar
had travelled first to one land and then an
other, and that many strangers sought to
learn the secret Of his subtle skill. All this
was nothing to him. Heavy hearted he
went about his work, finding neither peace
nor comfort until one early morning, when
he was wandering listlessly In the desert,
weaving around his soul a network Of sad
thoughts, his eye CHANGED upon a tiny
white flower. There was something in the
whiteness of it which held him for a mo-
ment spellbound-it was as white as the
surf of tie fairy Pacific; as white as an
untouched field of Alpine snow; as white
as ones ideal of a pure mind.
He stopped down and deftly raised its
roots, and, forgetful of all his sorrows, has
tened home with his fragile burden.
But. alas, it was so fragile that at first
he did not dare to hope that it would live.
1t dropped and drooped. and. the gardener
knew that he would lose his treasure.
IF could only have saved it," he
thought. II have never cared for any
flower so much as for this one"
Well, he saved it. And when at last 1T
raised its head and smiled to his care, he
felt gladness unspeakable.
Little friend" he whispered, Il found
thee in an hour of sadness. and together
with thee found courage and consolation,
and therefore name thee Friendship"
1t grew up strong and beautiful, white as
the surf of the fairy Pacific, white as an
untouched field of Alpine snow, white as
ones Ideal Of pure miad.
OF all the plants shich the gardener
outshone them all. Strangers could never
pass it by without tender word of praise
ndSwithout asking the name Of this plant,
which looked so chaste ard calmly beauti-
full, and when they had learned its name
they all wanted it. The rich were willing
TO pay any price for 1t, and those who had
not money would fain have offered the best
service Of their minds, their brains, their
hands.
But the gardener smiled always and
shook his head.
May" he said, II cannot sell it, neither
for money nor fame. ror anything which
the world may hold 1t is my very own
part of my own self. But go We out into
the wild places and ye will see many such
plants There they are for every one to take
or leave: Only have 4 little care in the
lifting of them and " the nursing of them.
They are very frail. Still, II you use every
care you know, your little white flower,
Friendship. .&wfP grow up strong, revealing
to you all the time new beauties and fresh
delights. At least, thus it has been with
me-"
Then so runs the legend of the gardener,
those who were eager enough to take the
trouble, wandered into wild and lonely
places, and found the tiny white flower. as
they thought But they often. gathered
the wrong plant, and took it triumphantly
to the gardener.
"See here" they said, I'VE have had no
trouble with this flower. From the very
first it f1ourished and grew apace"
The gardener looked at it and smiled
sadly.
so many have made that mistake" he
said. This is not the plant Friendship,
but merely its counterfeit, which after a
time loses its whiteness, and then it could
not deceive any one"
But others who came to the gardener
had, indeed, found the real plant Friend
ship. only they could not rear It. They
brought their faded plants to him and
pointed to them sorrowfully.
Mine did SO we'll at first" said one of
the strangers. 81 felt so confident Of sue
cess"
Perhaps thou vert too confident and so
neglected it." said the gardener, kindly
IF thou triest once more, remember that
thou must never relax thy watchful care"
"Ah, how can / ever hope for success
ncw?" said the stranger sadly. my heart
Is sore with disappointment"
''One never knows" said the gardener
land IL thou shouldst ever tend another
plant, hasten to tell me how it has Jared
with thee and it."
The gardener lived to know that many,
taught by him, had learned to find the
fragile flower, Friendship, and to rear it
with success; some had failed once and
twice and thrice and then Succeeded, and
others had failed altogether. But there
were many who had OWNED his secret, and
he was glad. For he knew how much the
world would gain of whiteness.
Then he died, and it Is not known to
whom he beQueathed his own beautiful
plant.
Maybe you have it; perchance 1 have it.
1t is surely among us somewhere.