'178 



THE GARDEN MAGAZINE 



November, 1909 



"It do beat all how things does grow in dis heah gyarden, mum' 



"You has'nt got de name foh dese las' 

 flowahs, missus, has you?" 



"No, but we can find out about that when 

 they begin to bloom." 



The whole collection was placed in a shady 

 spot for a while until it had recovered from 

 the shock of transplanting, being watered 

 morning and evening faithfully. It took 

 the big garden cart to carry them all to the 

 border, for the wonderfully vigorous 

 unnamed plants had outstripped all of my 

 dreams of rapidity in plant development. 



"It do beat all how things does grow in 

 dis heah gyarden, mum." 



"It certainly does, Copper. Why is it?" 



"It's 'cause de good Lord is a-lookin' at 

 'em, I 'spect, mum." 



We planted these flowers in clumps and 

 also in rows on the east half of the garden 

 border, which measures over a hundred feet 

 in length. They outdid themselves. The 

 clumps increased splendidly, and the new 

 border plants in response to my command 

 fairly shot into the air, so that as I walked 

 down the garden I had on each side a row 

 of sturdy plants that promised a wealth 

 of recompense — for those pots. It was 

 magical and I was jubilant. 



One day, while working in the hardy 

 border, 'Zeke came along. He was good at 

 " trucking " so had been hired for a day or so. 

 'Zeke took off his hat and stood there, in a 

 humble but quizzical attitude. 



"Well, 'Zeke what is it?" 



"'Course taint no business of mine, miss, 

 but pears to me dat you is taking right smart 

 trouble wid dem things." 



"Yes I am, but it pays in the end to do 

 everything well, 'Zeke; you colored people 

 should always remember that to help up- 

 lift your race." 



"Yess'um I knows, miss, but dem things 

 there grows powerful strong, dey does, and 

 spreads mighty bad too, and you cy'ant never 

 get rid of 'em, once dey gits set in a gyarden." 



"Well, that's just what I want. This is a 



hardy garden 'Zeke, and when I once put a 

 plant in here I intend to have it stay, and I 

 want it to spread, too, spread until it's all a 

 mass of bloom." 



"Yess'um, dat's 'zactly right about de 

 gyarden, but dat's Jerusalem oak, dat's 

 what we calls it down here." 



"Is it related to the Jerusalem Cross? 

 I've that too." 



"I don't know 'bout its 'lations, miss. I 

 knowit grows 'most as big and strong as a tree 

 andwese can't get rid of it and cows, dey wont 

 eat it, and it nevah has no flowahs, nohow." 



I sank down in a heap on the grass. I 

 knew then what 'Zeke meant. Chagrin and 

 mortification swept in flames of fire to my 

 face. No garden books had ever warned me, 

 those books which had been my law. I 



looked down at the hotbed and saw those 

 wretched stacks of flower pots, then along 

 the interminable rows of Jerusalem oak, 

 and I thought how hot the sun could be along 

 the " Eastern Shore " when it tried, and how 

 suddenly my garden had grown bare and 

 hopeless. After dark I came out into the 

 garden with Copper and silently we worked 

 at those despicable things until late at night. 

 Then came the blistering drought and there 

 were no masses of bloom, nothing but a sad, 

 lonely and deserted garden, for the Jerusalem 

 oak revelation had robbed me of all courage, 

 and the garden was more barren in my mind 

 than weeks of drought could make it. The 

 dear garden throbbed out its soul in the blis- 

 tering sun, and I deserted it for my gardens 

 of fancy, where countless flowers bloomed 

 in perfect beauty. I left it for many days. 



One night I dreamed that my garden was 

 rank with bristling bushes like holly, as 

 tough as trees that could never be pulled 

 from the ground, and as forbiddingly 

 interwoven as green-brier. The dream 

 brought me to myself. What was Jerusalem 

 oak in comparison with green-brier and holly 

 spikes? I would go again to the garden. 

 And so, as one who reenters a house deserted 

 by the laughter of children, I walked once 

 more down the long path and dared to 

 lift my eyes and look about me. 



But oh, Mr. Pessimist, what did I find 

 there ? A blaze of yellow from the marigolds , 

 tall reaches of plumes from the crepe myrtle, 

 all shades of harmonious color from the 

 despised zinnias, and a soft green sod down 

 the paths in the midst of it all. My 

 flowers had played the game and had won out ! 



Late in the autumn Copper was tugging 

 with both arms at a Jerusalem oak down 

 by the terrace, for they did spread, as 'Zeke 

 predicted, when, stopping for breath, he 

 said: " 'Pears, mum, like de Lord mus' a been 

 a-lookin' de udder way when we was a-plantin 

 dis heah Jerusalem oak." 



'A blaze of yellow from marigolds, tall reaches of plumes from the crepe myrtle, all shades of harmonious 

 color from zinnias, and soft green sod in the midst of all " 



