CHAPTER IX 



frosts; lifting and storing 



WITH the month of September comes the 

 reahzation of our dreams. Phlox, HUes, 

 asters, all are past. The 'mums are only show- 

 ing little buds and will give no colour for another 

 month. 



But the dahlias! They have burst forth in 

 their fuU glory. They seem to sing an anthem, 

 silent to the ears, but crashing forth a veritable 

 halleluiah chorus in colour, a thanksgiving 

 chant, for very joy of living. 



Then we feel that the time has been well 

 spent in the garden. They have given threefold 

 for the little that they demanded of us. Every 

 plant by now is an intimate friend. Every 

 bloom is a personal gift. 



Our friends come to see, and we enjoy that 

 pleasure of all pleasures, the sharing of the gar- 

 den with those not so fortunate as we. Guests 

 never leave my garden without an armful of 

 blooms. No one from my household ever goes 

 to town without a boxful of dahlias for folks 



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