taught us much of the extent to which nature can 

 combine colors without jarring the eye. 



At the rear we transformed a spinster-looking out- 

 building by draping its straight front with morning 

 gloijes, cunningly lured by strings tacked to the 

 very pinnacle of the roof. On the other side of the 

 building, in the shade, we planted in our blissful 

 ignorance a long row of sunflowers; in effort to see 

 their god, the sun, they were forced to grow to an 

 unheard-of height, their shining faces smiling fully 

 sixteen feet from the ground. 



Bordering the path leading to the seed yard, we 

 made a hedge of four-o'clocks. In a long bed at the 

 side of the back yard were planted candytuft, di- 

 anthus. Marguerite carnations, asters and cosmos. 

 Well, you should have seen the bloom and riot of 

 color in the midst of which we had our happy being 

 that season! It began with the May snowdrift of 

 candytuft, and lasted through the midsummer blare 

 of marigolds, larkspur and poppies to the asters 

 in early fall, and the tall cosmos which bloomed long 

 into October, as the frost was late that year. 



We had no problems at that time; there were no 

 roses to spray and carry over winter, no perennials 

 to mulch in the fall, — just a season of irresponsible 



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