THE LURE OF THE GARDEN 
the perfect blooms; but no pleading eyes or outstretched 
hands will persuade them to the sacrifice of a single 
flower. And their garden, howsoever riotous of color 
and sweet odor, has a shadow upon it, a chill at its 
heart that all the sunshine in the world cannot quite 
dispel. 
But, really, most garden vices are absurd, even at¬ 
tractive failings, at which you can afford to smile how¬ 
ever you may suffer by them. Gardeners are usually 
gentle folk, a little queer, possibly, a bit given to 
unusual hours and odd enthusiasms, and rather care¬ 
less of more important matters—such as Wall Street 
and ocean travel—but harmless after all, and even in 
their worst moments easy to placate with a package 
of seeds or a few roots. Their most obsessing sin, 
perhaps, is proselyting, and a narrowness of view that 
divides the world, for them, into simply two classes, 
the gardening and the non-gardening. But, with all 
their faults, they are a lovable class, and they are in- 
veterately happy. 
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