i 4 THE GARDEN, YOU, AND I 



Late in February I sowed the seed in two of the most 

 protected hotbeds, muffled them in mats and old 

 carpets every night, almost turned myself into a patent 

 ventilator in order to give the carnations enough air 

 during that critical teething period of pinks, when the 

 first grasslike leaves emerge from the oval seed leaves 

 and the little plants are apt to weaken at the ground 

 level, damp off, and disappear, thinned them out with 

 the greatest care, and had (day before yesterday) full 

 five hundred lusty little plants, ready to go out into the 

 deeply dug cool bed and there wax strong according 

 to the need of pinks before summer heat gains the upper 

 hand. 



The Dahlias had also thriven, but then they are less 

 particular, and if they live well will put up with more 

 snubs than will a carnation. 



Weather and Bertel being propitious, I prepared to 

 plant out my pets, though of course they must be shel- 

 tered of nights for another half month. As I was about 

 to remove one of the props that held the sash aloft, to 

 let in air to the Dahlias, and still constitute it a wind- 

 break, I heard a violent whistling in our grass road 

 north of the barn that divides the home acres from the 

 upper pastures and Martha's chicken farm. At first 

 I thought but little of it, as many people use it as a 



