134 THE JOY OF GARDENS 



useless knocker of glittering brass, and the garden was 

 alone to grow as it pleased. When it seemed the in- 

 truder had passed on at this unheard-of hour, they were 

 out at work again, looking suspiciously up and down to 

 spy who had disturbed their labors. 



Some imagine that the perennial phlox, queens of the 

 meadow, will grow if left alone. How about your boys 

 and girls, and your Irish-setter pup, your blooded colt, or 

 angora kitten? The giant perennial phlox need care for 

 their kind too. They require a restraining hand to bring 

 out their points of good breeding and to look their pret- 

 tiest before company. The discipline of pinching back 

 brings out their best appearance. 



One thing you may be sure of; that is, gratitude, a 

 virtue not always conspicuous in a higher scale of crea- 

 tion. The nightly prowl with the watering can and 

 shears gets its thanks. It is a pretty fancy to believe in 

 responsiveness, to have faith that the flowers know when 

 you prune away the dry leaves, till the earth about the 

 roots to discourage grubbers, and shake the flower heads 

 to dislodge a possible caterpiller which may be nest- 

 making there. 



All these things the queens of the meadow and other 

 blossoming members of your colony need, and the true 

 gardener finds a joy in the work which never comes to the 

 idle person sitting on the porch and watching the labor. 

 He may call all his own, and take toll of flowers for his 



