Now, it is rare to find this plant growing wild; for, in fact, it is
a garden flower. And its history here is connected with a bit of mud
wall, ruined and covered with mosses and ragwort, that still pushed
up from the swampy ground when I knew it, and had once been part of a
cottage. How a cottage came here, and how its inhabitants entered
and went out, are questions past guessing; for the marsh hemmed it in
on three sides, and the fourth is a slope of hill fit to break your
neck. But there was the wall, and here is the story.


One morning, near the close of the last century, a small child came
running down to the village with news that the cottage, which for ten
years had stood empty, was let; there was smoke coming out at the
chimney, and an outlandish lady walking in the garden. Being
catechised, he added that the lady wore bassomy bows in her cap, and
had accosted him in a heathen tongue that caused him to flee, fearing
worse things. This being told, two women, rulers of their homes,
sent their husbands up the valley to spy, who found the boy had
spoken truth.

Smoke was curling from the chimney, and in the garden the lady was
still moving about--a small yellow creature, with a wrinkled but
pleasant face, white curls, and piercing black eyes. She wore a
black gown, cut low in the neck, a white kerchief, and bassomy (or
purplish) bows in her cap as the child had stated. Just at present
she was busy with a spade, and showed an ankle passing neat for her
age, as she turned up the neglected mould. When the men plucked up
gallantry enough to offer their services, she smiled and thanked them
in broken English, but said that her small forces would serve.