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 rhyme with the skillet, and sit beside it on the stove, as it
ought, leaving harmony out of the question, to do. Accordingly all the
children were instructed to call the skillet a skettle, and the kettle
stood by its side on the stove ever afterward.

The house was a very pretty one, although it was quite rude and very
simple. It was built of logs and had a thatched roof, which projected
far out over the walls. But it was all overrun with the loveliest
flowering vines imaginable, and, inside, nothing could have been more
exquisitely neat and homelike; although there was only one room and a
little garret over it. All around the house were the flower-beds and the
vine-trellises and the blooming shrubs, and they were always in the most
beautiful order. Now, although all this was very pretty to see, and
seemingly very simple to bring to pass, yet there was a vast deal of
labor in it for some one; for flowers do not look so trim and thriving
without tending, and houses do not look so spotlessly clean without
constant care. All the Flower family worked hard; even the littlest
children had their daily tasks set them. The oldest girl, especially,
little Flax Flower, was kept busy from morning till night taking care of
her younger brothers and sisters, and weeding flowers. But for all that
she was a very happy little girl, as indeed were the whole family, as
they did not mind working, and loved each other dearly.

Father Flower, to be sure, felt a little sad sometimes; for, although
his lot in life was a pleasant one, it was not exactly what he would
have chosen. Once in a while he had a great longing for something
different. He confided a gr