“Who broke a prime earth broth basin and scattered it throughout the garden?” the Spelling Bee buzzed. “Well, at least, they spelled it correctly.”
Since daybreak, the Spelling Bee, a never clueless CLARACTER, went about her business collecting pollen and busying herself correcting misspelled words wherever she found them.
“ABRIL THOWERS WRING MAN FROWERS,” she droned. “One letter in each word is always incorrect. If these fancy flowers cannot speak properly, then they might as well not speak at all.”
“Spelling is IMPRACTIKAL while talking,” huffed the Summer White Clematis. “We are beautiful and fragrant, and that ought to be sufficient.”