Marys Meadow | Page 9

in all
the particulars of your store as well as wants, when you cannot see any
of them fresh upon the ground: and it shall further encourage him to
accomplish the remainder; who in praying that your Highness may
enjoy the heavenly Paradise, after many years' fruition of this earthly,
submitteth to be your Majesties,

"In all humble devotion,
"JOHN PARKINSON."
We like queer old things like this, they are so funny! I liked the
Dedication, and I wondered if the Queen's Garden really was an Earthly
Paradise, and whether she did enjoy reading John Parkinson's book
about flowers in the winter time, when her own flowers were no longer
"fresh upon the ground." And then I wondered what flowers she had,
and I looked out a great many of our chief favourites, and she had
several kinds of them.
We are particularly fond of Daffodils, and she had several kinds of
Daffodils, from the "Primrose Peerlesse,"[1] "of a sweet but stuffing
scent," to "the least Daffodil of all,"[2] which the book says "was
brought to us by a Frenchman called Francis le Vean, the honestest
root-gatherer that ever came over to us."
[Footnote 1: Narcissus media lutens vulgaris.]
[Footnote 2: Narcissus minimus, Parkinson. N. minor, Miller.]
The Queen had Cowslips too, though our gardener despised them when
he saw them in my garden. I dug mine up in Mary's Meadow before
Father and the Old Squire went to law; but they were only common
Cowslips, with one Oxlip, by good luck. In the Earthly Paradise there
were "double Cowslips, one within another." And they were called
Hose-in-Hose. I wished I had Hose-in-Hose.
Arthur was quite as much delighted with the Book of Paradise as I. He
said, "Isn't it funny to think of Queen Henrietta Maria gardening! I
wonder if she went trailing up and down the walks looking like that
picture of her we saw when you and I were in London with Mother
about our teeth, and went to see the Loan Collection of Old Masters. I
wonder if the Dwarf picked the flowers for her. I do wonder what
Apothecary John Parkinson looked like when he offered his Speaking
Garden into her Highness's hands. And what beautiful hands she had!
Do you remember the picture, Mary? It was by Vandyck."

I remembered it quite well.
That afternoon the others could not amuse themselves, and wanted me
to tell them a story. They do not like old stories too often, and it is
rather difficult to invent new ones. Sometimes we do it by turns. We sit
in a circle and one of us begins, and the next must add something, and
so we go on. But that way does not make a good plot. My head was so
full of the Book of Paradise that afternoon that I could not think of a
story, but I said I would begin one. So I began:
"Once upon a time there was a Queen--"
"How was she dressed?" asked Adela, who thinks a good deal about
dress.
"She had a beautiful dark-blue satin robe."
"Princesse shape?" inquired Adela.
"No; Queen's shape," said Arthur. "Drive on, Mary."
"And lace ruffles falling back from her Highness's hands--"
"Sweet!" murmured Adela.
"And a high hat, with plumes, on her head, and--"
"A very low dwarf at her heels," added Arthur.
"Was there really a dwarf, Mary?" asked Harry.
"There was," said I.
"Had he a hump, or was he only a plain dwarf?"
"He was a very plain dwarf," said Arthur.
"Does Arthur know the story, Mary?"

"No, Harry, he doesn't; and he oughtn't to interfere till I come to a
stop."
"Beg pardon, Mary. Drive on."
"The Queen was very much delighted with all fair flowers, and she had
a garden so full of them that it was called the Earthly Paradise."
There was a long-drawn and general "Oh!" of admiration.
"But though she was a Queen, she couldn't have flowers in the winter,
not even in an Earthly Paradise."
"Don't you suppose she had a greenhouse, by the bye, Mary?" said
Arthur.
"Oh, Arthur," cried Harry, "I do wish you'd be quiet: when you know
it's a fairy story, and that Queens of that sort never had greenhouses or
anything like we have now."
"And so the King's Apothecary and Herbarist, whose name was John
Parkinson--"
"I shouldn't have thought he would have had a common name like
that," said Harry.
"Bessy's name is Parkinson," said Adela.
"Well, I can't help it; his name was John Parkinson."
"Drive on, Mary!" said Arthur.
"And he made her a book, called the Book of Paradise, in which there
were pictures and written accounts of her flowers, so that when she
could not see any of them fresh upon the ground, she could read about