"So you have noticed that, have you? Well, I'm glad, for I have read in books books written by very wise men that the sunflower did not really do this, but that it was just an old fable. I think those wise men, perhaps, never saw the wild western sunflowers, but only the big tame ones that have heavy, coarse stems and are so big and clumsy and fat that they couldn't well turn, even if they wanted to. I have seen whole fields of wild sunflowers little ones like yours, and long before they were in bloom with every stem bent toward the sunrise, when there was not a breath of wind blowing; and I have seen the same flowers straighten their little stems as the sun rose higher, and then bend them again to the west in the evening; and the little bend would be so tight and firm that you could hardly straighten the stalk without breaking it. Very wise men make mistakes sometimes, mistakes that even a little girl would not make, just because they have not happened to see something which a little girl with sharp eyes has seen and thought about. It is a wonderful and beautiful sight on the prairies of the West to see miles of wild sunflowers in full bloom. They are like a great sea of gold, and in the early morning, when the air is still, every bloom is faced toward the sunrise, as bright and
fresh and faithful as the sun itself."
"I should think there would be a story about the sunflower," said Davy, half speaking to himself.
"Oh, there have been many stories about it, Davy. After breakfast I will try and remember the one I like best."
So then they hurried down to the dining-room, pausing just long enough to see that the garden was all safe, and to notice that the upper leaves of Prue's sunflower were really faced so far to the sun that there was a sharp little crook in the stem, then out to the big dining-room fire, for the fragrant breakfast that was waiting, and back to the library fire for the story that was to be told.
III LONG BEFORE THERE WERE ANY RAILROADS AND CITIES
"Oh," said Prue, "once upon a time I just love 'once upon a time.'"
"Yes," nodded Davy, solemnly, "and once upon a time there was a little girl who couldn't keep still so that her Papa could tell a story."
Prue snuggled down, and the Chief Gardener began all over.
"Once upon a time, long before there were any railroads, and cities such as ours, long before Columbus ever sailed over the ocean to a new world when all this great wide country, as you know, was held by Indians, who hunted and fished, and made war sometimes, when they had disputes there lived away in the far West two very friendly tribes. Their lands joined and they hunted together, and when one tribe was at war the other joined in and helped to fight the enemy. So they became almost as one tribe and their children grew up together.
"Now, in one tribe there was a little Indian boy, a chief's son, who was very fond of a little Indian girl of the other tribe. Their mothers had always been great friends, and often for a whole day at a time the little Indian boy and girl played together, and as they grew up they cared for each other more and more, and the Indian boy, Ahlogah, said that when he was older and a chief he would make the little Indian girl, Laida, his wife.
"But it happened that in Laida's tribe there was also a chief's son, a jealous-hearted and cruel boy that Laida did not like. But this boy cared for Laida, and like Ahlogah made up his mind that some day she should be his wife.
"So they all grew up, and Ahlogah and Laida loved each other more dearly every day, and Kapoka, the other youth, grew more jealous and more cruel-hearted. And when one day his father died, and he became chief of his tribe, he said that if she did not give up Ahlogah, he would make war on Ahlogah's tribe.
"So then Ahlogah and Laida met one evening just before sunset to say good-by for the last time. Their tribes had never been at war, and they were willing to part forever to keep Kapoka from making a war now. Laida had not promised to marry Kapoka, she had only promised not to see Ahlogah again. And now they parted, just as the sun was going down, and they both turned to see it for the last time side by side. And then Ahlogah said:
"'To-morrow just at sunrise go to the high rocks above the river and look to the east. And where the river passes through our lands, I will go also to see some high rocks, and I will look to the east, too, when the sun rises, and I will know that though we are apart, we are watching the sun rise together, and it will be always our message of love to each other as it travels across the sky.'
"So Laida went back to her tribe and Ahlogah to his, and every morning they watched from their high rocks above the river, and held out their arms to the rising sun, as a message it should bear between them.
"And Kapoka found out that Laida went every morning to the high rocks, and held out her arms to the sun. And he found that Ahlogah also went every morning to the high rocks farther up the river. Then Kapoka knew that Laida would never be his wife as long as Ahlogah was alive. And one morning very early Kapoka left his wigwam and crept across to the lands of the other tribes, and to the high rocks where Ahlogah stood waiting for the sunrise. And just as the sun rose, and Kapoka knew that Ahlogah would not hear him, he slipped up behind Ahlogah, and gave him a great push that sent him over into the swift river, hundreds of feet below.