34 MY SUMMER IN A GARDEN. 



the weeds out of one of her flower 

 beds. She was working away at the 

 bed with a little hoe. Whether women 

 ought to have the ballot or not (and I 

 have a decided opinion on that point, 

 which I should here plainly give, did I 

 not fear that it would injure my agricul 

 tural influence), I am compelled to say 

 that this was rather helpless hoeing. 

 It was patient, conscientious, even 

 pathetic hoeing ; but it was neither 

 effective nor finished. When com 

 pleted, the bed looked somewhat as if 

 a hen had scratched it : there was that 

 touching unevenness about it. I think 

 no one could look at it and not be 

 affected. To be sure, Polly smoothed it 

 off with a rake, and asked me if it 

 wasn t nice ; and I said it was. It was 

 not a favorable time for me to explain 

 the difference between puttering hoe 

 ing, and the broad, free sweep of the 



