It all came about through the professor of botany talking to himself as he weeded the lily bed. The little lady often told him it was a ridiculous habit, his delivering lectures intended for the academy boys to the flowers in the garden, but the professor said he thought it a very good plan, for he always gained fresh inspiration from their loveliness.
So that morning as he weeded he paused by the Golden-banded Lily that had just opened her perfect chalice to the sun, and said impressively:
"And this beautiful flower, my dear boys, is a cousin to the odorous onion. Lilium and allium, they stand as two branches of the beautiful and extensive lily family."
Dear me! If that wasn't a shock to the golden-banded, for you see she had lived only a short time in the professor's garden, and so was really very ignorant and had some foolish ideas as to her aristocracy. But all the new lilies--quite a number had come to the garden that year--were surprised at what the professor said, and confessed to knowing very little of the great lily family; a fact much to be deplored, the Tiger Lily said.
Lily of the Valley said she didn't believe any of them knew as much as they should, except the great Day Lily who lived in the center of the bed. She was dearly loved by the professor and the little lady, for she had been brought from the home garden and planted on their wedding day.
Lily of the Valley said what Day Lily didn't know about their ancestors wasn't worth knowing, and so proposed that she be invited to give them a lecture, and tell them some of the wonderful things the learned professor had taught her.
That afternoon the bees and butterflies found the lilies far too absorbed to attend to the business of honey-selling and pollen-giving, for every blessed one had her pretty face turned toward the center of the bed where the great Day Lily stood, her broad green leaves in charming contrast with her snowy trumptets.
"My dear lily sisters," she began in a voice as sweet as her fragrance, "it gives me great pleasure to address you upon the subject of our family. It is a wonderful thing to belong to an old and distinguished line, to be able to trace through the many sub-families those of beauty and renown as well as those who have only faithfully done their duty; a humble duty perhaps, but to do one's duty always, to fill one's life full as God gave it, is true heroism, and no living thing can do more than this.
"You were surprised this morning to hear that the plebeian onion belonged to the lily family, yet the onion is a cousin to be proud of, always the friend of man, healthful and helpful, growing cheerfully in the humblest garden and adding flavor to the food of the rich and great. The feathery asparagus is our relative also, and was known to the ancient Romans at least two hundred years B.C. Even then she was esteemed for her many virtues. To be sure her leaves are only triangular scales on the stem, while the feathery 'cladodes' are not leaves at all. But her flowers, though tiny, are pleasantly fragrant, and the good bees find in them honey as a reward for pollen-carrying.
"Among the wild lilies are the beautiful Solomon's seal, both the 'true' and the 'false.' The 'true' has a row of creamy white blossoms, hanging in pairs, like a chime of fairy bells under her pretty green leaves, while the 'false' has a spike of splendid bloom much admired by our little lady.
The beautiful wild Red Lily wears a gown of rich, coppery red, spotted with brown, somewhat resembling our own charming Tiger Lily," and the Day Lily bowed graciously to the Tiger.
"The Canadian is also a wild lily," continued Day Lily. "She droops her graceful head in many a meadow during the months of June and July. Her gold is flecked with brown, but it is her grace rather than her coloring that is her greatest charm. The Turk's-cap is darker in color than the Canada Lily, and has a wonderful bronze pod into which hundreds of seeds are closely packed.
"Then there is the 'adder's tongue' sometimes called the 'dog's-tooth violet,' though she is a true lily and not a violet at all. The leaves of the 'adder's tongue' are a glossy green, marvelously mottled, and she sends her roots deep, deep into the soil. Her bloom is a drooping bell of russet yellow, tinged with reddish brown upon the outside, and pure gold within. She grows in the poorest soil, by the roadside, in great patches of waxy green, ringing her pretty bells in the breeze, and the children hail her early coming with delight."
"To my taste the most beautiful of all the wild lilies is the trillium. Above her triple leaves of green she lifts three petals of waxen white that blush into lovely pink as she grows older. The painted trillium has a crimson V in the center of her flower, while the Wake Robin, also a trillium, is a bright maroon--an unusual color in the flower world.
"In the garden, with her dainty blossom of pale blue, peeping out from the spring grass, grows the pretty blue squill that came all the way from Siberia, first cousin to our own little wild hyacinth.
"Perhaps the most renowned of the lilies is the tulip; it is a native of Asia Minor, but comes to us from Holland. In the seventeenth century the Dutch became crazed over this beautiful flower, and as an article of commerce it brought the most fabulous prices, one collection of bulbs being sold for $44,100, one single bulb bringing the extraordinary sum of $6,000. This epoch in our history is called the 'tulipomania'.
"Our lovely cousin here beside me, White Garden Lily, is the beloved of artists, while our sweet little Lily of the Valley, blooming so early in the spring, is the favorite of most young girls."
The lilies were growing sleepy over this long and prosy lecture, and in spite of them their pretty heads would go a-nid, nid, nodding, and I rather suspect that they were catching little cat naps. But just as the Day Lily was clearing her throat to resume, the little lady came dancing down the path with a basket in her hand.
"Oh, you darlings," she cried, as she paused by the lily bed, "please give me your choicest blossoms for the sick children in the hospital. Now you who want to come, toss your little heads."
Just then a passing breeze set every lily a-quiver, as if in eagerness to breath its perfume on some little cot.