My Ambition Grows 39 
the midst of an accidental conversation held in the middle of 
the road late in September that second year, when my in- 
structor, a calm, middle-aged woman, but old and established 
in garden ways, suddenly broke in upon my fusilade with the 
query, ‘“‘ Have you had your garden long?” 
“No,” said I, “only two summers of garden and two win- 
ters of catalogues.” 
“T thought so,” she replied enigmatically. I scented some- 
thing wrong. 
“What made you think so?” demanded I. 
“Because you take it so hard,” and mischief lurked under 
her innocent smile. 
The blow staggered me for a moment, but I recovered, and 
answered jauntily: “The second summer is always hard on 
teething babes, and I am cutting a lot of wisdom teeth this 
year.” 
