OUR COUNTRY HOME 



in open spaces, that they follow civilization, and that there are 

 none at all in the real woods. One finds them by the roadway, 

 through the paths and hidden in the shrubbery, but particularly 

 and always on the lawn. I hope that sometime I may find a sandy 

 corner where I may let these really attractive flowers blossom in 

 splendid isolation. I must promise, and I certainly will fulfil it, 

 to cut off each head before its light down scatters ; but think how 

 gorgeous that purple mass will be! 



I am afraid I am not a systematic person, after all. It is such 

 joy to wander out in the early morning, fully equipped for any task 

 that may appear, but not knowing quite what it will be. Suddenly, 

 close by me, a low note sounds and a new bird rises in swift flight. 

 I follow blindly until I find myself in a long un visited corner, where 

 the tropical-leaved burdock with its tall spike of green and purple 

 balls is just ready to go to seed. I dart at the offending plants, 

 rise somewhat dishevelled from the encounter, and wander still 

 onward to new and further experiences in this blessed out-door life. 



Two more real weeds I acknowledge, the hogweed, which 

 it is good fun to pick, the roots come away so easily that in half an 

 hour you can make a small haystack, and the horseweed. The 

 former is rather pretty with its fernlike leaf, and there was 

 some hesitation about relegating it to the dump heap; but it set- 

 tled the question for itself by taking possession, not only of every 

 scrap of earth left bare for five minutes, but also of the planted 

 spaces, choking everything in its way. The second, horseweed, is 



