CHAPTER XII. DAILY MIRACLES 

 IN THE GARDEN 



IN delightful contrast to the shocking, grasp- 

 ing immorality of elm trees, laid bare in the 

 preceding chapter, is the conduct of sorrel, 

 the most unselfish of all plants. Many who 

 have it in their gardens look on it as a 

 weed and a nuisance — thus is true nobility 

 of character oft misjudged. It is, in truth, a 

 miracle of altruism. 



See what it does! Like all other plants, it 

 loves a rich soil, dotes on growing luxuriantly. 

 But does it choose the rich spots in the garden, 

 where it could vegetate profusely? Not a bit 

 of it. Once in a while you see a morally degen- 

 erate specimen which forgets its manners and 

 spreads its roots in a rich place intended for 

 other, sweeter vegetables, but as a rule it exiles 

 itself to the most arid corners of garden or 

 pasture. 



Why does it do this? Simply because it has 

 got it into its head that its mission in life is to 

 help gardeners. How? By informing them that 

 the soil in which it has ascetically and acetically 

 decided to grow is sour (birds of a feather flock 

 together) and needs lime to sweeten it. "If 

 wild sorrel grows freely about your garden you 

 need lime," says the guidebook. 



American gardeners, instead of being grateful 

 to the sorrel for this information, mercilessly hoe 

 it out. The French are more astute and appre- 



