274 DAYS NEAR THANKSGIVING 
They are now completely dead. When spring re- 
turns, she will sow the same seeds over again, and 
have another garden identical with the one of this 
year. Now her hands are idle, as far as garden 
work is concerned. She has done no autumn plant- 
ing, nor was there any need for her to cover over 
anything. 
“Auntie does those things in her garden,” 
Queenie says; “mine is for Rosamond and the but- 
terflies.” 
We have noticed that, whenever Queenie wishes 
to take no trouble or to do a thing in a childish 
way, she invariably says she does it to suit her doll 
Rosamond. Every morning now she goes to 
school with a little bag of books under her arm; 
and, from the way her brow is puckered, she must 
be thinking seriously of many things. 
It is not likely that any one about the Six Spruces 
will forget Joseph’s dislike of dandelions and the 
feeling of pride he had in thinking he had ban- 
ished them from the triangle. Yet, as I walked 
about to-day, a gay, golden head nodded to me 
amid the greyness of the garden. I stooped to 
scan it closely. It was a dandelion blossom as 
fresh and undaunted as if it were May instead of 
November, the rosette of its leaves appearing per- 
fect. I found it near the moist point, where Jo- 
seph has not been as vigilant as in other places. 
I was pleased with the welcome of this little 
dandelion. Its bloom cheered the whole garden, 
