flowers for the market--only those of
complementary colors were allowed to grow in adjoining beds, and, as
often as possible, they rhymed in their names. But that was a more
difficult matter to manage, and very few flowers were rhymed, or, if
they were, none rhymed correctly. He had a bed of box next to one of
phlox, and a trellis of woodbine grew next to one of eglantine, and a
thicket of elder-blows was next to one of rose; but he was forced
to let his violets and honeysuckles and many others go entirely
unrhymed--this disturbed him considerably, but he reflected that it
was not his fault, but that of the man who made the language and named
the different flowers--he should have looked to it that those of
complementary colors had names to rhyme with each other, then all
would have been harmonious and as it should have been.

Father Flower had chosen this way of earning his livelihood when he
realized that he was doomed to be an unappreciated poet, because it
suited so well with his name; and if the flowers had only rhymed a
little better he would have been very well contented. As it was, he
never grumbled. He also saw to it that the furniture in his little
house and the cooking utensils rhymed as nearly as possible, though
that too was oftentimes a difficult matter to bring about, and
required a vast deal of thought and hard study. The table always stood
under the gable end of the roof, the foot-stool always stood where it
was cool, and the big rocking-chair in a glare of sunlight; the lamp,
too, he kept down cellar where it was damp. But all these were rather
far-fetched, and sometimes quite inconvenient. Occasionally there
would be an article that he could not rhyme until he had spent years
of thought over it, and when he did it would disturb the comfort
of the family greatly. There was the spider. He puzzled over that
exceedingly, and when he rhymed it at last, Mother Flower or one of
the little girls had always to take the spider beside her, when she
sat down, which was of course quite troublesome. The kettle he rhymed
first with nettle, and hung a bunch of nettle over it, till all the
children got dreadfully stung. Then he tried settle, and hung the
kettle over the settle. But that was no place for it; they had to go
without their tea, and everybody who sat on the settle bumped his head
against the kettle. At last it occurred to Father Flower that if he
should make a slight change in the language the kettle could