SEPTEMBER DAYS 
MO 
drangeas are to be seen. They appear In every 
bed and border, they raise themselves from hidden 
places, and the vases in the house are full of them. 
These dahlias of Miss Wiseman are Indeed won- 
derful to look upon. They are not like the rigid, 
prim flowers that Joseph and I called dahlias be- 
fore we came to live at the Six Spruces. There are 
both single and double ones, the latter looking like 
rosettes, with their texture as soft as velvet. I 
think the dahlias of a crimson so deep that It Is 
almost purple are the most beautiful, although 
there are yellow ones that are nearly as lovely. 
“I can scarcely realise that you have not a dahlia 
In your garden,” Miss Wiseman said to me. “In 
September they are my joy and glory. With them 
I shall beat Mr. Hayden at the show this year.” 
Miss Wiseman was radiant. I could see that 
this meant a great deal to her. 
“Perhaps Joseph thought dahlias were trouble- 
some,” I said. I remembered that their roots have 
to be taken up and stored over the winter. They 
will not live In the ground, as do hardy perennials. 
“Trouble!” exclaimed Miss Wiseman. “You 
talk of trouble before such a flower as this,” and 
she lifted the head of a single, velvety beauty which 
drooped by Its own weight. 
“It is like a chrysanthemum,” she said. 
Miss Wiseman was truly excited over her suc- 
cess with dahlias: never before had they done so 
well in her garden. 
