48 MY SUMMER IN A GARDEN. 



The other day, I went to my garden 

 to get a mess of peas. I had seen, the 

 day before, that they were just ready to 

 pick. How I had lined the ground, 

 planted, hoed, bushed them ! The 

 bushes were very fine, seven feet high, 

 and of good wood. How I had delight 

 ed in the growing, the blowing, the 

 podding ! What a touching thought it 

 was that they had all podded for me ! 

 When I went to pick them, I found the 

 pods all split open, and the peas gone. 

 The dear little birds, who are so fond 

 of the strawberries, had eaten them 

 all. Perhaps there were left as many as 

 I planted : I did not count them. I 

 made a rapid estimate of the cost of 

 the seed, the interest of the ground, 

 the price of labor, the value of the 

 bushes, the anxiety of weeks of watch 

 fulness. I looked about me on the face 

 of Nature. The wind blew from the 



