162 MINNESOTA STATE HORTICULTURAL SOCIETY. 



beautiful dolls in lovely silk dresses, and a thousand and one de- 

 lights, each leading to innumerable other resources. 



Tearing ourselves away, we hasten on from house to house; up 

 rickety flights of stairs to the tops of unsteady sheds to admire the 

 contents of precious boxes or baskets; through by-ways to collec- 

 tions of gardens where some kind hearted neighbor has gathered 

 together the possessions of those whose homes are unfavorably 

 situated. Here one boy points out his garden, a heart-shaped bed; 

 another, a crescent; another, a star; while triangles, circles and all 

 sorts of geometrical designs vie in splendor with the astronomical 

 ventures. At some of the homes, the fathers come forth with their 

 versions of the story. They tell us how the children came home 

 from school with packets of flower seed, each explaining how abso- 

 lutely incumbent upon him as head of the house to remove cer- 

 tain ancient landmarks; how, having succeeded in clearing space 

 enough for the planting of the seeds, like Dinah at " clarin' up time," 

 he was forced to keep on until all was clean and orderly. Some of 

 them are disposed to apologise for having so far departed from the 

 traditional customs of their neighborhood, but the}-^ evidently enjoj^ 

 the experiment and mean to give it further trial in future. 



But time is flying, and we must hurry on. The procession con- 

 stantly increases as each child visited volunteers to act as escort 

 to the next and having volunteered continues to serve to the end of 

 the journey. Here comes the poor deaf grandma, so happy to see 

 us— unable to speak a word of English; but we understand her, as 

 with eyes and hands she tells the story of her wonderful grand-chil- 

 dren and their almost equally wonderful gardens, pointing out the 

 human and floral blossoms that go together; and the poor father, 

 stricken with paralysis, who watches the flowers from morning un- 

 til night; and Christine, the eldest of six, no taller than her tallest 

 plant, she comes to meet us carrying in her arms the youngest of 

 six, an infant almost as large as herself, and followed by the other 

 four whom she takes care of while their mother earns their bread bj^ 

 washing. A bevy of large and industrious chickens, with curiosity 

 depicted in every feature, gather near and are pointed out as ma- 

 rauders of the deepest dye, who in league with neighboring dogs 

 and the round-eyed infant alluded to, succeed at least once a day in 

 uprooting Christine's entire garden, which consists of six plants of 

 as many varieties in a little garden whose boundary line marked 

 with clam shells divides in circular form the sandy soil without from 

 the sandy soil within. Despite all vexations, Christine loves her 

 plants and would not be without them. One beautiful pansy blos- 

 som, a tiny cluster of sweet alyssum and a spray of mignonette are 

 her treasures, bright jewels set in the dreary routine of her young 

 life. 



Then there is the miniature horticulturist who has eclipsed his 

 associates in size of plants, economy of space, uniformitj' of color 

 and originality of arrangement. In a bed two feet in diameter, he 

 has a tall and stately sunflower, a short and excessively stout mari- 

 gold, an overgrown yellow "summer chrysanthemum," all strug- 

 gling to burst the bonds of the wire fence with which he has con- 

 fined them. But this is not all. He points with pride to the two 



