164 THE JOY OF GARDENS 



and the notes at the foot of the page are more elaborate 

 than those in the orderly margin. 



Yet if he can register but two or three loyal high-bred 

 varieties, and half a dozen gorgeous newcomers, some 

 accounted for by his purchases and trades and others that 

 he hopes are the result of his own breeding, he accepts 

 the conviction that dahlia growing, like life, has its ups 

 and downs. 



If the next mail brings a letter and a catalogue from 

 another dahlia fanatic the hurt of disappointment is 

 gone, and the grower has a succession of visions of 

 singles, doubles, ten-inch monsters, and dwarf chickadees, 

 decorative, pompon, and cactus-bred and chrysan- 

 themum-mannered, and, as the fire of passion flares up 

 again, he turns to his gentle gardener partner and says: 

 "Next year." 



What is there to compare with a fancy like this in 

 which men of affairs have found refreshment in working 

 with nature? The ancient magic has not fled the earth 

 so long as common man can bury a dahlia tuber in early 

 spring and bid it be gay in autumn, confident that it will 

 keep the tryst with him which it does. 



Flower gatherers lingering in the twilight know the 

 hour by the kindling of the gypsy fires. The red flames 

 make circles of light in the gloom, and wreaths of smoke 

 curl upward as if from the burning of some sacrifice. All 

 through the long summer days the gypsy caravans 



