A GARDEN FABLE

Sun (Auckland), Volume IV, Issue 1031, 23 July 1930, Page 16

A GARDEN FABLE

IN the far-away days when the world was a garden and great cities and commerce had never been dreamed of, beautiful flowers bloomed in profusion much as they do today, but, although they were lovely to look at, they were all devoid of scent. Now, in a dark, mysterious cave there dwelt a Maker of Perfumes, who worked night and day concocting wonderful fragrances for his own delight, and before he died he decided to bequeath his treasures to the world. Calling his hundred and one attendants—queer pixie people with bright eyes and turnedup shoes—he ordered them to distribute his perfumes among all the blossoms they could find, and off they went with precious phials labelled “Rose,” “Violet,” “Mignonette,” “Narcissi” and with many other titles. There was a fragrance for every flower the-Maker of Perfumes had ever heard of, and not a bloom would now be devoid of scent if those pixies had carried out their task correctly. But, before they had visited half the flowers in the garden, mischief welled up in their little jerkined bosoms, and they decided to have some games instead. Away they went playing leap-frog over toadstools, swinging on catkins, and conducting ball games with furry buds of pussy-willow. As dawn broke they remembered their mission, but it was too late to visit the remaining flowers, so, overcome with guilt, they presented what was left of the perfume to a shy little flower called daphne. That is why daphne has the rarest and sweetest scent in the garden and why so many other flowers are delightful only to the eye. REDFEATHER.