AN OLD FARM 151 



say that when the dreadful test came, 

 James Doolittle did not flinch. His 

 Saviour he trusted absolutely. Hearing 

 that the old farm had been sold, and that 

 he was living alone in a small cottage in 

 the village, I went to see him, dreading, 

 I must confess, to meet the man after all 

 the sad changes. But, save on the sur- 

 face, he had not changed. Always a man 

 of few words, he very soon said: "I want 

 to show you my garden." At the sight 

 of that garden I was simply overcome. 

 Nowhere, except in Holland, had I ever 

 beheld such a wonder of patient, loving 

 economy. Every foot of space behind the 

 house had been put to use. Not only was 

 there every feasible kind of vegetable, 

 but also there were flowers and flowers. 

 In fact, all the dear old farm flowers were 

 there, repeated as by magic — marigolds, 

 border pinks, bachelors' buttons, sweet 

 William, hollyhocks, and even sunflowers 

 blazing against the shed. As I did not 

 speak, he looked at me curiously and said: 



