In a small, cheerful town named Sunnyville, there lived a gentle soul known as Tilly the Gardener. Tilly was beloved by her flower shop, where every morning she would carefully arrange bright blooms into breathtaking bouquets. However, despite all the flowers and smiles surrounding her, Tilly often felt lonely. Everyone in town hurried past her shop, busy with their own lives, and her kind gestures seemed to go unnoticed.
Every evening after her work was done, Tilly would sit on her little porch, a cup of chamomile tea in hand, watching as families dashed here and there, completely oblivious to her quiet presence. “Oh dear,” she would sigh, her heart heavy, “If only someone would stop to chat, or share some news.” But the streets remained filled with rushing feet and muffled voices, and she would return to her tea, feeling a bit more forsaken with each passing day.
One particularly beautiful spring evening, as the last rays of sun dipped beneath the horizon, Tilly had a thought. “Tomorrow,” she decided, “I shall do something unusual. Tomorrow, when the early birds start to sing, I shall plant a very special garden—a kindness garden!”
She climbed into her little attic, rummaged through the many jars and boxes until she found exactly what she needed: packets of seeds for all types of flowers that she would plant all over her front yard. Straight away, she got to work preparing the soil, planting the seeds and watering them diligently. She finished late into the night and felt quite tired but happy as she headed up to bed.
When the first soft rays of dawn stroked her cheek, Tilly flew down the stairs and out into her garden. In shock, Tilly could hardly stand. In her garden where she had planted her little seeds were lovely flowers of every color. For along with each flower seed, she had planted one kind deed. Upon each blossom hung a little sign—a message of kindness.
Tilly dashed to the garden and read from each sign, and when she finished crying, she jumped into her apron, blew out a loud kiss and rushed to her shop opening her doors wide. “You must come and see my garden!” she called, her eyes twinkling with joy.
And to her great delight, soon all the townsfolk gathered beneath her porch Italian and Russian gentlemen, her four kind shop assistants, the baker—Baker Allen—the artist and the pretty nurse leaning coolly against her bicycle, all nodded happily.
“My dear friends,” exclaimed Tilly when they had all come, “what could be prettiest now than your seeing my kindness garden around my shop?”
So, with one accord, they all rushed to where the flowers grew looking this way and that, and reading all the kind things with trembling voices, all about health, love and charity.
“Baker Allen,” you hear some one’s charming voice laughingly say, “what have you to complain of? Isn’t one little act of kindness to each stimulus to well-doing worth by one ‘thank you’?”
“Oh yes,” grinned the baker; “one act of kindness, naturally very seldom does it.”
The sun was already high up in the sky when all the friends rose to go, and before they turned away, round about the blossoms they clasped hands one with another, as it was still dearer to all of them than any mere flowery sentiment, and told each other all they could do for each other all the long summer months, and theirs was a happy meeting.
“Kindness blooms where least expected, my friends,” said Tilly, humbly.
“Bloom throughout Sunnyville where most of us prefer to be unkind boors,” growled a man from London who had unconvidently drifted in hearing, “you certainly defy explanation.”
All the residents of Sunnyville, on the whole, behaved very kindly that summer. And this is what happened: a more lively interest sprang up as it is but normal to expect in all the little flowerless spots of their lives, sometimes however scaly full of both good and outstanding good. Poor relatives were warmly invited by some of these townsfolk and hospitably entertained—ruined questions grouped themselves all over the town and even pleasanter, they—the townspeople themselves-came to feel that it is a very dainty kind of happiness indeed to be kind.
When the first autumn winds blew the quiet town out of its summer skin, it cast a circumambient veil over courtesy, good-fellowship, consideration, yes, and charity as well.
And Tilly—the good Tilly—felt more thankful for all her unfading bright bouquets every day.