50 THE JONATHAN PAPERS 



bel Vincent last summer, grubbing over yel 

 low lilies, or something, and I went over into 

 the meadow and got a lovely armful of lilies 

 and brought them in, and no grubbing at all.&quot; 



&quot;Perhaps grubbing was what she was 

 after,&quot; said Jonathan. 



&quot;Well, anyway, she talked as if it was 

 lilies.&quot; 



&quot;I don t know that that matters,&quot; he said. 



Jonathan is sometimes so acute about my 

 friends that it is almost annoying. 



This conversation was one of many that 

 occurred the winter before we took up the 

 farm. We went up in April that year, and we 

 planted our corn and our potatoes and all the 

 rest, but no flowers. That part we left to 

 nature, and she responded most generously. 

 From earliest spring until October nay, 

 November we were never without flowers : 

 brave little white saxifrage and hepaticas, 

 first of all, then bloodroot and arbutus, ad- 

 der s-tongue and columbine, shad-blow and 

 dogwood, and all the beloved throng of 

 them, at our feet and overhead. In May the 

 pink azalea and the buttercups, in June the 



