January, 1915 



THE GARDEN MAGAZINE 



199 



win and Herbert Spencer. In intervals 

 of discourse on plants he would expound 

 their theories to the young secretary; 

 and, believing Kant too much for Rob- 

 erta's mind, he started her on Herbert 

 Spencer and lent her the "Synthetic Phil- 

 osophy". In which, to her shame be it 

 said, she did not make great progress and 

 stopped fatigued at the end of the 

 "Unknowable." "In order properly to 

 understand plants," he would explain 

 "one must haf a knowledge of phil- 

 osophy. Otherwise," he would argue, 

 "one beliefs exactly what one is told. 

 That iss to be an animal to whom habit 

 iss all important. Credulity iss a wind- 

 ing sheet for experiment. I myself haf 

 done much from habit. I wass a mem- 

 ber of the church, I wass confirmid, und 

 so fort. Und when I came to America, 

 I joined myself to the church here. It 

 wass a matter of course. 



"But, one Sunday the minister 

 preached und he said Darwin wass perni- 

 cious, und he said the worlt wass made 

 in sefen days, und such foolishness. 

 Darwin iss not pernicious; he iss a fine 

 intelligence. I know it. 



"Next day I visit that minister of the 

 church und I ask 'Why, on Sunday 

 did you say such and such things?' 



"T beliefed them,' he says 'it iss the 

 doctrine of the church.' 



"'Iss it the doctrine off your church?' 



"'It iss,' he said. 



"'Und when I choined myself to your 

 church I subscribed to that doctrine?' 



" 'You did,' he says. 



" 'I subscribe to it no more!' I tell him. 



"T will not hear men of fine intelligence 

 called pernicious when I can not stand up 

 und say it iss a lie. I subscribe no more.' " 



Roberta laughed. "You might have 

 been burnt as a heretic years ago, Uncle 

 Rudolph." 



"Perhaps," he agreed, "but one can- 

 not lie." 



These exquisite May mornings he was 

 intensely busy 



on the other side and read the legend Do 

 Not Sell. 'Tis enough to make a man 

 stop selling plants altogether. And thin 

 what w'u'd Rosebe'ry Gardens do?" 



Rudolph Trommel thought one ex- 

 tremely stupid who could not recognize 

 a plant except in its blooming season. 



"What rhododendron iss that?" he 

 would question his pupil. 



"If it were only in bloom ' : 



"Look at the leafes. Can you not 

 see the indifiduality? That iss Mrs. 

 Milner. Her leaf is much flatter than 

 the others. Und that? It iss easy to 

 tell from the habit. ' That iss Charles 

 Dickins; he iss straggling, but a beauti- 

 ful color!" 



Roberta herself was industriously keep- 

 ing a journal, not of events, but of the 

 appearance in bloom of one flower and 

 another, and as each one appeared she 

 put it down. 



Rudolph Trommel showed her how 

 to cut branches, exactly where the prun- 

 ing should be done later "Und then the 

 plant suffers no harm." She would 

 always have a budding knife or a pair of 

 pruning shears in her pocket, and usually 

 brought back with her dogwood branches 

 or a spray of azaleas. 



Once this early breathing space past, 

 when the joy and delight of the May 

 morning could be enjoyed to the full, 

 life at Roseberry Gardens was intensely 

 busy. 



"That iss the way of gardens," old 

 Rudolph would say placidly, for having 

 nothing to do with the shipping, the 

 rush of the spring business left him un- 

 moved. " Children are so also, although 

 people try to make them ofer into lock- 

 step. It is nature and it iss growth. 

 It may be it iss also business. Frantic 

 haste and then quiescence und peace. 

 That iss plants und that is nurseries." 



But it was only in the early morning 

 that Roberta had time to listen to his 

 theories or instructions. For the rest, 



looking at new 

 varieties in 



bloom for the 

 first time and 

 making careful 

 notes of vari- 

 ances; seeing if other sorts were true 

 to name; noting those which should 

 be propagated ; marking plants which 

 were especially good, from which 

 grafts should be taken later and from 

 which Michael O'Connor was warned 

 off by large signs "Do Not Sell." 



"He always puts that mark on the 

 foinest plants," grumbled Michael. 

 " 'Tis har-rd whin, afther much 

 trouble, you get a man worked up to 

 the buying point, wid a foine plant 

 in his eye and thin to come around 



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never were barn swallows busier than 

 were she and Michael O'Connor. The 

 spring was coming with a rush and all 

 deciduous trees must be shipped before 

 they leafed out; then it was dangerous. 

 Evergreens could wait a bit, also azaleas 

 and magnolias; but the flowering trees 

 and shrubs must go immediately. 



It mattered little if they were in bloom, 

 for the naked flowering shrubs had had 

 their blossoms ready all winter to push 

 out at the first warming of the branches; 

 but the foliage meant root activity. 



So, into the long packing-shed came 

 the heaps and heaps of flowering shrubs, 

 buds faintly showing, just ready to blos- 

 som, and tirelessly and with unfailing 

 cheerfulness was Michael O'Connor 

 everywhere superintending the work, 

 pushing along the elderly workmen who 

 fairly trotted about their work without 

 realizing it, for an old gardener can work 

 with real rapidity and is deft and skill- 

 ful in handling plants, while brawn 

 and ignorance may break the roots. 



The packing sheds were more fragrant 

 and flowery than ever. Roberta liked 

 the necessary running in and out with 

 tags and shipping directions, and to see 

 the careful wrapping of the roots and 

 tying up the lovely living things into 

 the long, mummy-like bundles that 

 seemed to thrust legs and heads help- 

 lessly from the big truck-loads every 

 morning. There must be holes cut in 

 the sides of the cases so that the ever- 

 greens might breathe. Each rhododen- 

 dron had its ball of roots wrapped in 

 burlap and tied with twine; they were 

 packed to fit exactly and held in the box 

 by cleats so that the tops were free. 

 Conklin could glance at a heap of plants 

 and make a box to fit it exactly. 



Occasionally to a near-by estate a load 

 went unpacked, the trees standing up- 

 right, closely fitted into the wagon floor, 

 while in an embowered seat sat the grim 

 and sour Tompkins or the grinning Wash- 

 ington, looking 

 as if they were 



bringing Bur- 

 nam Woods to 

 Dunsinane. 



" How can 

 Tompkins 

 those flowering 



"Rudolph Trommel . . . 

 peering carefully at each over 

 his gold-rimmed spectacles" 



grumble so with 



peaches almost all over him!" said 



Roberta to Michael. 



"If he was to drive it into Hivin 

 wid palm branches wavin' around 

 and angels showin' him the way, 

 he'd be disgruntled!" he replied. 



"Cheer up, man," called Michael 

 who teased the luckless teamster 

 sometimes. 'Tis the Babes in the 

 Woods that you an' Washington 

 ar-re and I'm the crule uncle that's 

 drivin' you off." (To be continued) 



