THE LAST MAY DAYS 
129 
says lie is like our mother, and that it is because of 
her he can play the violin so well. Lately, how- 
ever, he has sadly neglected his music. There has 
been so much to do in the garden that he has been 
tired when evening came, and scarcely able to keep 
his eyes open through dinner. Like all gardeners, 
he awakes early in the morning, and often has done 
considerable weeding before breakfast. The 
weeds sleep less than Joseph, and no place is sacred 
to them. If unwatched for a day or twO', I believe 
they would grow up and choke our flowers. 
When Timothy prepared the soil for the flower- 
beds, making it light and rich, we little thought 
how well it would suit the weeds. It is a mystery 
where they come from. No seeds of them have 
been sown, yet they crop up more lustily than did 
the seeds in Jo-seplfs window-boxes which he 
watered and urged so strongly tO' grow. 
Timothy still believes, however, that weeds are 
the spice of a garden: that without them all else 
there would be tame and tasteless. Perhaps it is 
flattering that our garden has the desire to be so 
highly spiced. In any case, I have found it neces- 
sary to buy a pair of rubber gloves that I may help 
Joseph with weeding. Mrs. Keith, who' adheres 
to the ways of old England, where she was born, 
has bought me, besides, some frocks of blue:-jean. 
They may be useful now that June is near, when 
I shall be struggling to become a Rosarian. 
