CHAPTER XXXIV 
DAYS NEAR THANKSGIVING 
AST night a frost intensely white spread itself 
over our garden. It was whiter even than 
the last of the cannas that faced it so unflinchingly 
and were killed by its touch. The few remaining 
heliotrope flowers grew black at its coming, and the 
cheery nasturtiums that had hidden themselves be- 
neath their leaves from former frosts quite gave in 
to this white visitor. Indeed, how should any of 
these survive when even the hardy chrysanthemums 
lie dying? 
In the rosarium, the monthly roses have been 
covered for the winter with manure, leaves and 
cedar branches over all. They have had also warm 
cloaks of straw wrapped around them. No ves- 
tige of their former stateliness remains. They 
look like queer little pigmies playing at being as 
important as the cornstalks in the fields. The 
hardy perpetual roses have been covered more 
lightly ; mulched, in fact, with coarse litter. 
All of Joseph’s young perennials have been cov- 
ered, many of them with cedar boughs to keep the 
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