FullReads

Then I thanked him for asking Grandmamma to let me have the Rushlight till Margery came home; and he said I ought to be very much obliged to him, for he had begged me off the barber too. So I asked him if he thought my hair gave me headaches, and he felt it, and said–“No!” which I was very glad of. He said he thought it was more what I grew inside, than what I grew outside my head that did it, and that I was not to puzzle too much over books.

I was afraid he meant the Puzzling Tale, so I told him it was very short, and the answer was given; so he said he should like to hear it–and I read it to him. He liked it very much, and he liked the picture; and I told him we thought they were Sunflowers, only that the glory-leaves were folded in so oddly, and we did not know why. And he said–“Why, because they’re asleep, to be sure. Don’t you know that flowers sleep as soundly as you do? They don’t lie awake in the dark!”

And then he shook with laughing, till he shook the red into his face, and the tears into his eyes, as he always does.

Dr. Brown must know a great deal about flowers, much more than I thought he did; I told him so, and he said, “Didn’t think I looked as like a flower sprite as yourself, eh? ‘Pon my word, I don’t think I’m unlike one of your favorites. Tall, ye know, big beaming face, eh? There are people more unlike a Sunflower than Dr. Brown! Ha! ha! ha!”

He laughed, he always does; but he told me quite delightful things about flowers: how they sleep, and breathe, and eat, and drink, and catch cold in draughts, and turn faint in the sun, and sometimes are all the better for a change (“like Miss Margery,” so he said), and sometimes are home-sick and won’t settle (“which I’ve a notion might be one of your follies, Miss Grace”), and turn pale and sickly in dark corners or stuffy rooms. But he never knew one that went home at night.

Except for being too big for our chairs and tables, and for going voyages of discovery, I do think Dr. Brown would make a very nice person to play with; he seems to believe in fancy things, and he knows so much, and is so good-natured. He asked me what flower I thought Jael was like; and when I told him Margery could imitate her exactly, he said he must see that some day. I dared not tell him Margery can do him too, making his speeches in the shovel hat we found in an old hat box near Bass’s Straits, and a pair of old black gloves of Grandmamma’s.

When he went away he patted my head, and said Margery and I must come to tea with him some day, and he would show us wonderful things in his microscope, and if we were very good, a plant that eats meat.

“But most flowers thrive by ‘eating the air,’ as the Irish say, and you’re one of ’em, Miss Grace. Do ye hear? You’re not to bury yourself in this attic in the holidays. Run out in the garden, and play with your friends the Sunflowers, and remember what I’ve told you about their going to sleep and setting you a good example. It’s as true as Gospel, and there’s many a rough old gardener besides Dr. Brown will tell you that flowers gathered in the morning last longer than those gathered in the evening, because those are fresh after a night’s nap, and these are tired and want to rest, and not to be taken into parlors, and kept awake with candles. Good bye, little Michaelmas Goose!” And away he went, clomping downstairs, but not a bit like Jael.