You Decide on a Greenhouse 31 



But at last I ran across an old-fashioned, more 

 or less antiquated place that came nearer my idea 

 of what a greenhouse ought to be. Old vines, 

 some of which had evidently been growing there 

 for years, covered the north walls. There were 

 shelves and hanging baskets ; things tucked away 

 under the sunny sides of the benches — dozens of 

 different kinds of things. In some places there 

 were little narrow walks one had to squeeze 

 through sidewise to avoid brushing the vines 

 that hung down from the benches; and doors 

 you had to stoop to get under. Horribly ineffi- 

 cient, undoubtedly, compared to those modern 

 light, airy, open ranges I had been through; but 

 what a place to spend one's days in! Surely, 

 eating one's bread in the sweat of one's brow 

 would not be a severe life sentence here! 



From the old fellow who owned this place, 

 with an accent as strong as his pipe, and speech 

 as knobbly as his knuckles, I secured just the 

 kind of an assortment of plants I wanted. He 

 took as much interest in my new venture as 

 though he were a long-lost uncle, and put in 

 extra things — cuttings of this and that; gave me 

 minute instructions about the idiosyncrasies of 

 each; warned me against coddling them too 

 much ; and made a final urge to come again soon 

 and spend the day. 



