148 Hardy Plants for Cottage Gardens 



family has had time to read it. Jellies and pickles never ripen 

 on their cellar shelves, for they are sent as a glad tribute to 

 neighbors. They will dig up anything, and strip their most 

 precious possession to give to any passer-by, who seldom 

 troubles himself to carry it as far as the gate. When such a 

 one meets a person gluttonous of things, sad is the havoc 

 wrought. For example: in the early days when I was study- 

 ing not only flowers, but the habits of mortals let loose among 

 them, this conversation took place. Said a Gluttonous One: 



" My daughter and I were calling upon Mrs. who has a 



beautiful garden, and she told us that we could help ourselves 

 to anything we liked; and my daughter gathered white fox- 

 gloves the greatest quantity as many as she could hold in 

 her two hands," and she related the atrocity with all the relish 

 of a cannibal who had just eaten a missionary. I imme- 

 diately called her attention to a certain view of the moun- 

 tains and gently but firmly led her a safe distance from the 

 garden. 



Incidentally let me confide that this same mountain view is 

 my trump-card. Some people strangers in our part of the 

 world have come to look upon us as public property, and not 

 a few have even been known to visit us as they would a boul- 

 der or a glen. Their arrival is not always coincident with my 

 convenience. They may come at the critical moment when 

 the dressing for my truly delicious mustard pickles is thicken- 

 ing; when, at my ablutions, my ear alone catches the sound 

 of the knocker, and I have no way of communicating either 

 their coming or my helpless condition to Adam in the gar- 

 den, or my maid who may be hanging out the clothes. 

 They come at dewy morn when I am transplanting; they 

 come when we are at dinner a matter not half so tragical 

 as arriving just as dinner, for three only, is ready to be 

 served. They come in rain, and when the thermometer stands 



