ET IN ARCADIA FUISTI 99 



and debar them all. Weeds are such a little way from 

 humankind. If you have fought crab grass, plantain, or 

 sprawling vines, sooner or later an eerie feeling possesses 

 you that they know more than they confess, and that they 

 are scheming at night while you are asleep. You wonder 

 in what phase of existence they learned their tricks. 



This wee morning-glory was bound to succeed, for it 

 had been practicing throwing its lasso tendril by the light 

 of the moon, as the perfect spiral bending toward the 

 iris told too plainly. It seemed a sin to uproot it; but 

 what about the waiting iris bloom, what of the artist iris 

 lover to whom the offense of mixed plants was a greater 

 sin than the ending of the life of the morning-glory vine*? 

 With a look to right and to left to see that no one was 

 watching, the tender-hearted weeder lifted the earth 

 about the morning-glory roots with a wide scoop of the 

 trowel, and, all unconscious that it was being taken to 

 other worlds, it was replanted beside the kitchen porch in 

 another warm, sunny spot, and a string made ready for its 

 climbing. 



Of all the plants that grow, vines are the most respon- 

 sive and companionable. Their unceasing efforts "up, up 

 to the light" help the soul in its battle for courage ; and, 

 if one lacks amusement for the idle hour, it is certain to 

 be found among the vines. Ten or a dozen are not too 

 many for the garden that is to be a "sanctuary of sweet 

 and placid pleasure." Each has its crochets, its fancies, 



