84 ESCAPED FROM GARDENS 



"I don't know what the weed limit is," said 

 Flower Hat. "I never could word it, somehow, 

 though I usually know weeds when I see them. 

 They are such ugly, homely things." 



"Like Peppermint and Marjoram?" I asked. 



"Oh, no; those are useful herbs." 



"Very good. Then suppose we amend Emerson, 

 boil him down, and say that a weed is a plant which 

 is neither useful nor beautiful." 



"Yes, but then how about that Orange Hawk- 

 weed, and White Daisies and all the Goldenrods, 

 you know? They are lovely, and yet you told me 

 this morning that they fairly eat up good farm land." 



"Like many other things, it all depends upon the 

 point of view, united to the very possible condition of 

 having too much of a beautiful as well as of a good 

 thing. But look, there is our chimney," I said in 

 relief, for when Flower Hat begins to argue, illogical 

 though she often is, I have thought at times that 

 she would have been able by sudden strategy to 

 corner Socrates, Thomas Aquinas and Duns Scotus 

 rolled into one. 



There was the chimney standing alone with a 

 single Tiger Lily before the hearthstone, while half 

 way up in a jog where the flooring must have rested 

 a plant of Matrimony Vine or Box Thorn, with its 



