CHAPTER ELEVEN 
COME AND SEE MY CABBAGES 
Tue vegetable garden is not, or it need not be, 
less beautiful than the flower garden — certainly 
not less interesting. I am sure that my rows of hy- 
brid beans, clinging to poles eight feet high, and a 
mass of silver-white pods, six to eight inches long, 
and three in circumference, have inherently the 
combined beauty of nature and art. A row of 
Savoy cabbages, with exquisitely fretted leaves and 
heads of solid lusciousness, is both picturesque 
and suggestive of winter’s comfort. The old- 
fashioned vegetable garden included herbs and 
nasturtiums, and marigolds and johnny-jump-ups. 
Gradually these have gone, mostly over to the 
flower garden; and it is just as well, for there is 
poetry in potatoes, and lots of sentiment in Brussels 
sprouts and carrots. ‘There are no sprays for your 
bouquets to surpass carrot leaves, and I do not re- 
call any prettier sight than a row of blossoming 
