OR, HOW I BECAME A FLORIST. 19 



how is it done? I never planted a seed in my life. 

 " Directions for planting." How nice ! Full directions 

 on the package. " Sow thinly on the surface, and rake it 

 in." And I did, and afterwards contemplated my new- 

 made bed with considerable satisfaction. It was not a large 

 bed. About twenty feet by three. 



"Law sakes ! do look at Miss Oilman." 



Turning round, to see where the voice that suddenly 

 broke on my ear came from, I beheld the ruddy face of my 

 next neighbor, surmounted by a "coal-scuttle" bonnet, 

 peering over the fence at me. 



" Good-morning, Mrs. Jacques. Fine day, is it not?" 



"Day's fine enough, but what on airth are you doing ? " 



"Me? Oh, I am putting my garden to rights." 



" I should say you was. Look at all them petunias lying 

 there ! I should say you was putting them to wrongs." 



Finding myself caught, I replied that "I never did 

 think much of petunias. I preferred mignonnette." 



"What, planting more, with all that bed full now. 

 Well, I never!" 



Upon which she put up her linen-gloved hands and dis- 

 appeared. 



" I shall not hear the last of that, I know," and, gather- 

 ing up the remains of the petunias, I went into the house. 



Soon after dinner, I finished the weeding, and, as there 

 did not seem to be anything more to do that day, I im- 

 proved -the time in some other way. As I intended to take 



