BOOK OF THE GARDEN, YOU, AND I 13 



"Nae, it's mair like I'm growin' deef in the nigh 

 ear," said Tim, and without further argument they drove 

 away. . 



I was still pondering upon the real inwardness of the 

 matter, when the boys came home to luncheon. Two 

 hungry, happy boys are a tonic at any time, and for a 

 time I buttered bread though alack, the real necessity 

 for so doing has long since passed when, on explain- 

 ing father's absence from the meal, Ian said abruptly, 

 "Jinks! grandpa's gone the day before! he told Tim 

 Tuesday at 'leven, I heard him!" 



But, as it chanced, it was a slip of tongue, not memory, 

 and I blessed Timothy Saunders for his Scotch for- 

 bearance, which Evan insists upon calling prudence. 



My own time of trial came in the early afternoon. 

 During the more than ten years that I have been a gar- 

 dener on my own account, I have naturally tried many 

 experiments and have gradually come to the conclusion 

 that it is a mistake to grow too many species of flowers, 

 better to have more of a kind and thus avoid spinki- 

 ness. The pink family in general is one of those that 

 has stood the test, and this year a cousin of Evan's sent 

 me over a quantity of Margaret carnation seed from prize 

 stock, together with that of some exhibition single 

 Dahlias. 



