64 AN ISLAND GARDEN 



I counted fifty-two, and it is a tiny bush not more 

 than a foot high. The dear old Sweet Rocket is 

 blossoming in every corner, sending up its grate- 

 ful perfume. Now come days of great anxiety 

 about the Margaret Carnations that I have so 

 loved and watched and tended since the first of 

 March. They were splendid plants, full of health 

 and strength and all ready to bloom. Alas, I saw, a 

 day or two ago, the leaves turning yellow. I knew 

 too well what that meant. There was but one 

 thing to do. Down on my knees I went this morn- 

 ing, and bringing my face close to the ground, 

 began pulling apart the central shoot in each plant, 

 where the sickly color hung its flag of distress for 

 a signal. Down, down a cruel length, into the 

 very heart and core of each precious stem I tore 

 my reluctant way to find that abomination of 

 which I was in search, namely, a short fat lively 

 white worm ; for him I probed and brought him 

 up on the point of a pin, and having a small 

 quantity of alcohol at hand for the purpose, 

 dropped him into it forthwith, for instant and com- 



?lete destruction. Over forty of these beasts did 

 destroy, and left the tattered Pinks to rest and 

 recover, if they could, poor things, after such a 

 terrible experience! These worms seem made 

 for all fragrant Pinks; as far as my experience 

 goes they never attack anything else. How in the 

 world, L wonder, do they know where the Carna- 

 tions are planted and when to come for them? 

 Such a scene of devastation as is my pretty bed 

 of Pinks of which I was so proud, dwarfed and 

 yellow, with their gnawed-off leaves strewn about 



