Garden Hospitality 



which there is one remaining bud. I want that 

 bud! I want to see its yellow center and jaunty- 

 streaked face. But swiftly it disappears. By this 

 time, I am at her heels. Will she never reach the 

 calendulas in their first gaudy bloom and clamor- 

 ing to be cropped? She has passed them for 

 those she has at home ; so has she bachelor's but- 

 tons. And hastily she makes her way to my 

 sweet-peas. 



Once there, you would think I might breathe 

 freely, as indeed I might; for do not I have to 

 toil twice daily to keep them giving bounty ? But 

 in a moment she has snipped off a whole gadding 

 vine with I know not how many buds, how much 

 capacity of growth. I recognize perfectly that 

 hers is the proper way to pick sweet-peas; that 

 arranged in a cluster of pure color they are hid- 

 eous, and that they need to nod among their own 

 green leaves. But I have never had the courage 

 to pick such a bouquet for myself. 



While I am merely martyred during the cus- 

 tomary ravage, there are certain plants where an 

 attack wiU transform me to Knight Templar with 

 my sword vmsheathed. To be sure these plants 



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