THE END OF THE DROUGHT 183 
and at once began to read in “An Ambitious Boy’s 
Garden.” I think he was trying to forget about 
the poor spruce. I rearranged the flowers In the 
house, clipping their stems and giving them fresh 
water, a thing, in fact, I do every morning. At 
length I looked out at the garden, Joseph being still 
deep in his book. 
The first things that caught my eyes were the 
yellow popples, the ones that grow on the highest 
part of the slope towards the woods. They were 
not in the least Injured by the storm. Instead, 
their golden cups gleamed as high and bright as 
ever. It seemed as If they were climbing towards 
the sun. I looked long at these poppies, recalling 
how abundantly Joseph had scattered their seeds 
when we were still fearful of frosts; how busy he 
was at one time thinning them out, so that only 
the strongest plants should be retained; and how, 
as they grew and bloomed, they changed the whole 
look of the places about them. Great drops of 
water were still lingering on their leaves and flow- 
ers. 
It seems as if these California poppies had 
wished to bloom themselves to death. How they 
will look after they have gone to seed, I do not 
know. Surely, Joseph will not have to buy poppy 
seed another spring. I can see that their pods 
hold it in plenty. He will gather from them all 
he has need of, while they will very likely assist 
him by resowing themselves. Next spring Joseph 
