HOUSE AND GARDEN 
April, 
I 9 I 4 
plants. I welcomed them, feeling that we were very closely re¬ 
lated. I opened the box with all of Pandora’s excitement surging 
over me. In a corner lay a paper with the familiar writing. I 
snatched it up, and grew confident as I read the detailed direc¬ 
tions for planting. I lifted a bundle of roots labeled achillia, and 
gently fingered them. “Q ueer things,” I mused; “look quite like 
the ‘wild men of Borneo,’ with hair sticking up and whiskers 
hanging down; I wonder which end I should plant!’’ I was de¬ 
termined that some should live; so our man dug a trench, and I 
stood half on their whisk¬ 
ers and the rest on their 
heads. I was glad, may be 
foolishly so, that I had 
done this, as many came up 
to join the ranks of the 
flowers. In this same box 
were a number of bulbs, 
and, even though they had 
lost their labels, I felt quite 
proud in recognizing them 
as iris. Around one end of 
the house I had planted 
wisteria, so I placed the 
iris there to harmonize 
with the beautiful vine. 
Imagine my surprise when 
I found aggressive yellow 
lillies bursting out of their 
green jackets with quite the 
confident air of guests who 
unwittingly appear on the 
wrong day, and I was filled 
with much the same con¬ 
fusion as the host would experience. Fortunately, the wisteria was 
more conservative in its growth, and the lilies, for one season at 
least, entertained us with their sunny noddings. Among the other 
things were quantities of bulbs, which David healed in himself in 
a very unprofessional, irregular nursery. When they were all 
settled for their “long winter’s nap,” a neighbor informed us that 
they could not be transplanted in the spring, as we had intended. 
David groaned in despair at the thought of renewed effort, and 
refused to change them. When the spring came, the unintentional 
sweep of tulips, narcissus, snow-drops and hyacinths was lovely, 
and has now become an artistic feature of the place, especially ap¬ 
preciated by David. 
For one who has many calls upon them 
beside the hours of delight spent among the 
flowers, it will be found most satisfactory to 
rely upon perennials, with annuals as fillers 
in. Flowers are the dessert in the feast of 
Nature, and there should be no burden in con¬ 
nection with them, to even slightly dim one’s 
joy in the delight they have to offer. The 
flowers which we planted could be well man¬ 
aged by a person either too lazy or too busy 
to attempt a larger assortment. My flowers 
are modest in their demands, and with a 
little hoeing, an occasional drink in dry 
weather, and a blanket of manure in winter, 
their only desire is to be left quietly to them¬ 
selves, and they generously give me the credit 
for their glory. 
Having profited by the experience of my 
first summer, I again planned the bed at the 
end of the house, where I had inadvertently 
placed the yellow lillies. The following Fall 
I transplanted them to a corner of the place in a plantation by 
themselves. I substituted for them an assortment of plants which 
I had calculated would bloom in succession. By the thorough in¬ 
termingling of the varieties in the bed, it was a delight throughout 
the season to note how each recurring bloom presented an almost 
solid mass. My iris now had found their permanent home, and 
might flower in all their glory, while the wisteria blossoms nod 
down in gav approval from their trellis above. 
During the mid-summer months I rejoiced in my salmon-pink 
and white phlox, the colors 
harmonizing well with the 
pink geraniums of my 
flower box, and the Do¬ 
rothy Perkins vines. 
David had collected in a 
large paper bag myriads of 
hollyhock seeds from the 
garden of one of his rela¬ 
tives. I will never forget 
the day when, too tired 
and hot to do anything 
properly, I walked around 
the house trailing a stick 
behind me as a child might 
do, and into the indenta¬ 
tion which this made in the 
earth, I sprinkled the hol¬ 
lyhock seeds, and careless¬ 
ly fanned the earth over 
them with my spade. “They 
will never come up,” I 
thought, “and I’m too hot 
to care.” Not long after, I 
was pleased to find David weeding my garden. He fairly reveled 
in this task. “Each weed killed,” said he, “is one less.” “Just 
like our sins,” I primly added, looking at him. “What is this 
weed which is coming up in a sort of row about the house?” he 
asked, holding up a handful. “My hollyhocks!” I cried, and ex¬ 
citedly ran along the bed. They were elbowing and crowding 
each other mercilessly, so I left the task to David of thinning 
them out. That summer they hardly flowered, but the following 
year they speedily grew over ten feet high. The shades were 
most beautiful, varying in color from creamy pink to deep red, 
and there was scarcely a flower which could not boast of ex¬ 
quisite color. A mass of yellow chrysanthe¬ 
mums wound up the joyous summer months, 
with their feast of sunlight. 
Should I attempt to describe the garden 
of my dreams, with limpid pools and glowing 
flowers, I would be lost for days in the maze 
of my fairyland. A group of those most 
adorable, baby-eyed flowers, forget-me-nots, 
bring me dangerously near to that land of 
romance. Lilies of the Valley also stir my 
heart with a reminiscent thrill of child days, 
when the princess lily ruled my flower work! 
by her exquisite daintiness. The Festiva 
maxima white peonies are also surrounded by 
this virgin atmosphere and delight the passerby 
with their splendor. Myrtle, of shiny leaf and 
sky-blue flower, is not usually known as 
border, but, trained in the proper way, it is 
ideal for that purpose. First it is planted in a 
single row, and each spring the roots must be 
gathered in the hands and heartlessly clipped'. 
(Continued on page 301) 
Our cement stable 1 screened about with a 
hedge of golden glow 
