258 THE GARDEN, YOU, AND I 



ment. Being on what Maria calls "a hunt for an- 

 tiques," we drove in the direction of Newham village, 

 which you know is away from railroads and has any 

 number of old-time farms. We were not looking for 

 spinning-wheels and andirons, but old-fashioned roses 

 and peonies, especially the early double deep crimson 

 variety that looks like a great Jack rose. We located 

 a number of these in June and promised to return 

 for our plunder in due season. Last year I bought 

 some peony roots in August, and they throve so well, 

 blooming this spring, that I think it is the best time 

 for moving them. 



In one of the houses where we bought pink-and- 

 white peonies the woman said she had a bed, as big as 

 the barn-door, of "June" lilies, and that, as they were 

 going to build a hen-house next autumn on the spot 

 where they grew, she was going to lift some into one of 

 her raised mounds (an awful construction, being a 

 cross between a gigantic dirt pie and a grave), and said 

 that I might have all the spare lily bulbs that I wanted 

 if I would give her what she termed a " hatching" of 

 gladiolus bulbs. Just at present the lilies have entirely 

 disappeared, and nothing but bare earth is visible, but 

 I think from the description that they must be the lovely 

 Madonna lilies of grandmother's Virginia garden that 



