270 DAYS NEAR THANKSGIVING 
wind from scattering the warm^ dried leaves spread 
over them like a blanket. Everywhere about the 
triangle, and extending to the wood-border, there 
has been a clearing up and a making ready for 
winter. Neatness prevails in our garden. To me 
it looks quite dead. 
Joseph persists it is only sleeping, which, of 
course, I know is true. Yet this sleep of the plant 
world is very different from that of people. When 
the “sandman” calls for Joseph, he merely closes 
his eyes and his body loses its sprightliness. I can 
see him and feel him just the same as if he were 
awake. But when the garden sleeps, it fairly 
vanishes from sight. It is almost as if it had never 
been. The tops of the hardy perennials have been 
cut off and taken away as rubbish. Still, Joseph 
reminds me that they are not dead but sleeping. 
I think I should like to peer deep into the earth 
and look at the roots of the plants while they are 
sleeping. I wonder if they have the same appear- 
ance then as when upholding their stalks of flowers. 
Wonderful happenings must gO' on in the soil where 
they live, or various roots looking more or less 
alike would never be able to send up so many flow- 
ers of different shapes and colours. 
If any of our perennials fail to come up next 
spring, I shall believe that they have taken cold 
in the earth and been unable to live. The sensa- 
tions of a plant when it is cold must be truly dread- 
ful, as they cannot call out for aid or in any way 
