278 FIVE ACRES TOO MUCH. 



It grew remarkably. If it had done well the pre 

 vious year, it bid fair to surpass itself this season. 

 As its time for flowering approached I became quite 

 nervous and excited. Slowly the buds formed, being 

 almost innumerable, and covering each spray ; they 

 filled and distended, and finally burst. But what 

 was my astonishment when I discovered that they 

 had changed their color. Instead of the rich crim 

 son flowers that were expected, I found the bush one 

 morning covered with strange-looking blossoms of a 

 dull yellow. The most remarkable transformation 

 ever known had taken place crimson flax had lost 

 its natural hue under careful cultivation, and as 

 sumed the appearance of a cross between an orange 

 blossom and a dandelion ; if any thing, it was rather 

 more like the dandelion. It was no longer crimson 

 had, in fact, no shade of crimson. It was a pure 

 yellow, and not altogether a handsome one. To 

 describe the disgust that this unexpected change 

 wrought in my usually placid temper is impossible. 

 I began to hate that plant. The more it blossomed 

 the more furious I felt, until finally, when it had 

 covered itself with these wretched straw-colored 

 abortions, my feelings overcame me, and I pulled it 

 up by the roots. 



This burst of passion has caused me much regret. 



