84 MY SUMMER IN A GARDEN. 



tremendous cry of warning about some other, 

 and they will all give their special efforts to 

 the one to which attention is called. This 

 profound truth is about the only thing I 

 have yet realized out of my pea-vines. 



However, the garden does begin to yield. 

 I know of nothing that makes one feel more 

 complacent, in these July days, than to have 

 his vegetables from his own garden. What 

 an effect it has on the market-man and 

 the butcher! It is a kind of declaration 

 of independence. The market-man shows 

 me his peas and beets and tomatoes, and 

 supposes he shall send me out some with 

 the meat. " No, I thank you," I say care- 

 lessly : " I am raising my own this year." 

 Whereas I have been wont to remark, 

 " Your vegetables look a little wilted this 

 weather," I now say, "What a fine lot of 

 vegetables you 've got ! " When a man is 

 not going to buy, he can afford to be gener- 

 ous. To raise his own vegetables makes a 

 person feel, somehow, more liberal. I think 

 the butcher is touched by the influence, and 



