32 THE GARDEN OF A 



my bit of flower patchwork, and in spring always 

 dug up my bulbs and hardy roots because it was 

 easier than to dig between them, a stern fact that 

 sent me outside garden limits to the wild field be- 

 yond the strawberry bed, where I coaxed an intimate 

 friend of mine, an up-country boy named Dan'l, who 

 brought berries to sell, and did odd errands for 

 father, to dig up two long strips one on either side of 

 a grassy cart track that had once led to a hay-field, 

 now reached by another road. Little I then thought 

 that I was locating my garden of dreams. 



The boy dug sturdily, the soil was black on top 

 and mellow loam beneath a happy combination, and 

 my flowers throve far better than in the half shady, 

 badly tilled garden bed. 



I paid Dan'l with a jew's-harp, two old but well pre- 

 served valentines, and a purplish red necktie which 

 Aunt Lot had bought father, but which he had im- 

 mediately concealed under some papers in the little 

 room beyond his office where he kept his instru- 

 ments, and then given me for a doll's sash. The 

 valentines must have signified more to Dan'l than 

 they did to me, for he instantly began to lavish tokens 

 upon me, hickory-nut beads, willow whistles, a home- 

 made fishing rod, and a wreath of thistle puffs for 

 my hat. This ornament I wore for several weeks 



