£16 
EARLY AUGUST DAYS 
and that of a single petunia are much alike?” I 
asked him, for fun. 
“Yes,” he answered; “but, aside from the shape, 
they are quite different.” 
“Some of the petunias at Miss Wiseman’s,” I 
said, “are beautifully coloured. She has them of 
lavender and pink as delicate as our morning- 
glories.” 
“It Is not their colour,” Joseph replied, “that 
makes them so ugly.” 
“What is it, then?” I asked. 
“It is because they are themselves.” 
“They are very easy to raise,” I persisted. 
“People just sow them in the spring and then let 
them grow.” 
“I know,” Joseph assented. “They are an- 
nuals.” 
“Nearly every one about here has them,” I said. 
“Do you like them?” Joseph asked suddenly. 
“Oh, no,” I confessed, and added that I was just 
trying to find out why he disliked them so much. 
“Well, It is their smell I do not like,” he said at 
length, “and their sticky feeling.” 
vSo, after all, Joseph had his reason for disliking 
petunias. 
When Queenie Perth came to see us last she 
wore a hat covered with petunia flowers, on which 
were perched three yellow butterflies. She had 
taken the artificial flowers off her hat, she told us, 
because the butterflies had found out that they were 
