The Normal Record. April 1904

              THE NORMAL RECORD.
world is getting worse every day. There
isn't any place for plain, honest folks any
more. Something showy and extravagant
is what people want now.'' The voice was
that of the hollyhock on the knoll.
"Eh?" interrogated a fine-looking
Drumhead, sleepily awakening from a
dream, in which he had taken the first
prize at a country fair. "What's that
you're saying?"
'' "What am I saying ? Look at me, growing on a piece of waste land, too poor for
a low vegetable to grow in. Think how
degraded I feel—I, who was once the petted favorite of that big, brown house on
the hill where Grandmother Farmer lived
when a girl. She always had a bunch of
us in her tall vase on the mantel when
Grandfather Parmer called to see her. On
her wedding day she had the dining-room
decorated with 'the white beauties,' as she
called us. When Master John was a baby
she used to pick our white bells and give
them to him to play with, because she
knew we would not hurt him. There's
many a flower in that garden now that
Master John's pretty wife would not give
to her baby. Does anybody ever look at
me now, unless it is little Willie, who put
me here so he might catch bees in my
white bells ? Where my ancestors used to
grow are now ugly, heathenish palms and
bold lilies."
"Oh—ah—would you let me make a
suggestion?" said a smart-looking young
Radish. "I know Hollyhocks today who
have educated and perfected themselves
in such a way as to maintain their old
station in life. For instance, the color
and style of one's dress and a certain way
of doing little things count a good deal
sometimes. Keep up with the world and
you'll never have cause to accuse the
world of misusing you. Why, they say
that my ancestors were once white, tasteless weeds, and now look at us!"
With a look of fine disgust the Hollyhock retorted: "I know there are some
of my kind who do ape those bold things
—the American Beauties. They double
their petals and dye them crimson to
please people, but I won't! I will be single
and white as long as I live. That is the
way I was taught and that is the way I
will stick to. What was right and proper
when my mother lived is right and proper
today, and I will not change my attitude
of mind toward the world one whit. It is
easy enough for those who have never
seen the finer side of life to judge for one
who has."
'' Fudge!'' said the Cabbage, now thoroughly waking up at the slight put upon
his friend. "What do beauty and admiration amount to, anyway? I'll wager my
head, Mistress Hollyhock, that even your
much esteemed Grandmother Farmer
would a sight rather see me alongside of a
good piece of meat on a tin plate than see
you in one of those cherished china vases,
if she were good and hungry. It's the
solid things in life that count. Beauty and
that kind of stuff do well enough for people who are in love, or have nothing to do,
but the people who count for something,
like Tom, who rids us of the pestering
weeds—they want something they can
eat."
The Hollyhock opened her lips to speak
again and then closed them. She remembered that she was in an age where elders
and betters were not respected and that
those with whom she was talking were
not her equals.
The young Radish began an impressive
address about "Keeping Abreast of the
Times," but the Drumheads began to
snore, and the poor, injured, out-of-her-
day Hollyhock looked up at the moon and
sighed. The Radish ceased speaking and
silence and beauty again reigned over the
garden.