272 THE GARDEN OF A 



distributing. Each one in its turn seems the keen- 

 est, and surely the last is not the least; for what is 

 life worth if one has nothing to give away ? This 

 lack, it seems to me, must be the sharpest pang of 

 poverty. 



Then, too, garden gifts are all pleasure light 

 and slight matter-of-course gifts that carry no im- 

 pediment of obligation with them ; for one may 

 give a whole basket of home-grown flowers when 

 a mere handful, if purchased, would be an intru- 

 sion. Here again, in order to fulfil its destiny, the 

 garden must be dual, flower and vegetable ; for 

 there is always a neighbour whose peas are affected 

 with weevils, whose lettuce has run prematurely to 

 seed, or a dear old farmer crank at the hospital 

 who has fallen from the hay-mow and fractured a 

 rib or leg (this seems a favourite midsummer pas- 

 time of farmers past middle age ; the young ones 

 fall from cherry trees), who is "pining for garden 

 sass " or a " good dish of beets and raw onions with 

 plenty of cider vinegar." Not to mention my Lady 

 of the Bluffs, who, I know of old, would stray out 

 from father's office, where she had called, and levy 

 upon the necessary leaf, fruit, or berry for some 

 desired entree. 



It is strange oftentimes to see how little the 



