"No. I don't believe sweet alyssum ever hurt anybody," said Jonathan.

That evening when he came in I met him in the hall. I had the florist's catalogue in my hand. "Jonathan, it says English daisies are good for borders."

"Borders! What do you want of borders?"

"Why, up on the farm--the phlox, you know."

"Oh, the phlox. I thought you had sweet alyssum for a border."

He took off his coat and I drew him into the study.

"Why, yes, but that was such a little package. I don't believe there would be enough. And I thought I could try the English daisies, too, and if one didn't do well perhaps the other would. And look what it says-- No, never mind the newspaper yet--there isn't any news--just look at this about pansies."

"Pansies! You don't want _them_ for a border!"

"Why, no, not exactly. But, you see, the phlox won't blossom till late August, and it says that if you plant this kind of pansies very early, they blossom in June, and then if you cover them they live over and blossom again the next May. And pansies are so lovely! Look at that picture! Don't you love those French-blue ones?"

"I like pansies. I don't know about the nationalities," said Jonathan.

"Of course, if you want to bother with them, go ahead." He picked up his paper.

"Oh, it won't be any bother. They take care of themselves. Please, your pencil-- I'm going to mark the colors I want."

We went up soon after to look at the farm. We found it very much as we had left it, except that there hung about it that indescribable something we call spring. We tramped about on the spongy ground, and sniffed the sweet air, and looked at the apple buds, and kicked up the soft, matted maple leaves to see the gra.s.s starting underneath.

"Oh, Jonathan! Our bulbs!" I exclaimed. We hurried over to them and lifted up the thick blanket of leaves and hay we had left over them.

"Look! A crocus!" I said.

"And here's a snowdrop! Let's take off these leaves and give them a chance."

"Dear me!" I sighed; "isn't it wonderful? To think those hard little bullets we put in last fall should do all this! And here's the phlox just starting--look--"

"Oh, you can't kill phlox," said Jonathan imperturbably.

"All the better. I hate not giving people credit for things just because they come natural."

"That is a curious sentence," said Jonathan.

"Never mind. You know what I mean. You've understood a great many more curious ones than that. Listen, Jonathan. Why couldn't I put in my seeds now? I brought them along."

"Why--yes--it's pretty early for anything but peas, but you can try, of course. What are they? Sweet alyssum and pansy?"

"Yes--and I did get a few sweet peas too," I hesitated. "I thought Henry hadn't much to do yet, and perhaps he could make a trench--you know it needs a trench."

"Yes, I know," said Jonathan. I think he smiled. "Let's see your seeds."

"They're at the house. Come over to the south porch, where it's warm, and we'll plan about them."

I opened the bundle and laid out the little packets with their gay pictures indicating what the seeds within might be expected to do.

"Sweet alyssum and pansies," I said, "and here are the sweet peas."

Jonathan took them--"'Dorothy Eckford, Lady Grisel Hamilton, Gladys Unwin, Early Dawn, White Spencer,' By George! you mean to keep Henry busy! Here's ten ounces of peas!"

"They were so much cheaper by the ounce," I murmured.

"And--hold up! Did you know they gave you some asters? These aren't sweet peas."

"No--I know--but I thought--you see, sweet peas are over by August, and asters go on all through October--don't you remember what lovely ones Christabel had?"

"Hm! But isn't the world full of asters, anyway, in September and October, without your planting any more?" He grinned a little. "I thought that was your idea--you said Christabel grubbed so."

"Why, yes; but asters aren't any trouble. You just put them in--"

"And weed them."

"Yes--and weed them; but I wouldn't mind that."

"But here's some larkspur!"

"Yes, but I didn't buy that," I explained, hurriedly. "Christabel sent me that. She thought I might like some from her garden--she has such lovely larkspurs, don't you remember? And I just brought them along."

"Yes. So I see. Is that all you've just brought along?"

"Yes--except the cosmos. The florist advised that, and I thought there might be a place for it over by the fence. And of course we needn't use it if we don't want to. I can give it to Mrs. Stone."

"But here's some nasturtiums!"

"Oh--I forgot about them--but I didn't buy them either. They came from the Department of Agriculture or something. There were some carrots and parsnips, and things like that, too, all in a big brown envelope. I knew you had all the other things you wanted, so I just brought these. But of course I don't have to plant _them_, either."

"But you don't like nasturtiums. You've always said they made you think of railway stations and soldiers' homes--"

"Well, I did use to feel that way,--anchors and crosses and rock-work on big shaved lawns,--and, besides, nasturtiums always seemed to be the sort of flowers that people picked with short stems, and tied up in a wad, and stuck in a blue-gla.s.s goblet, and set on a table with a red cover on it. I did have horrible a.s.sociations with nasturtiums."

"Then why in thunder do you plant them?"

"I only thought--if there was a drought this summer--you know they don't mind drought; Millie Sutphen told me that. And she had a way of cutting them with long stems, so they trailed, and they were really lovely. And then--there the package _was_--I thought it wouldn't do any harm to take it."

"Oh, you don't have to apologize," said Jonathan. "I didn't understand your plan, that was all. I'll go and see Henry about the trench."

I sat on the sunny porch and the March wind swept by the house on each side of me. I gloated over my seed packets. Would they come up? Of course other people's seeds came up, but would mine? It was very exciting. I pinched open a corner of the Lady Grisel Hamiltons and poured some of the pretty, smooth, fawn-colored b.a.l.l.s into my hand. Then I opened the cosmos--what funny long thin ones! How long should I have to wait till they began to come up? I read the directions--"Plant when all danger from frost is past." Oh, dear! that meant May--another whole month! Well, I would get in my sweet peas and risk my pansies and alyssum, anyhow. And I jumped off the porch and went back to the phlox to plan out my campaign.

By early May we were settled on the farm once more. My pansies and alyssum were up--at least I believed they were up, but I spent many minutes of each day kneeling by them and studying the physiognomy of their cotyledons. I led Jonathan out to them one Sunday morning, and he regarded them with indulgence if not with enthusiasm. As he stooped to throw out a bunch of pebbles in one of the new beds I stopped him. "Oh, don't! Those are my Mizpah stones."

"Your what!"

"Why, just some little stones to mark a place. Some of the nasturtiums are there. I didn't know whether they were going to do anything--they looked so like chips--and then, being sent free that way--but they are.

"How do you know? They aren't up."