The Garden, You, and I | Page 6

that runs), completely undermined the Vandeveers'
mushroom bed, the door of the pit having been left open!
When Mr. Vandeveer recovered himself, he began profuse apologies.
Would "send the glazier down immediately"--"so sorry to spoil such
lovely young onions and spinach!"
"What! not early vegetables, but flowers?" Oh, then he should not feel
so badly. Really, he had quite forgotten himself, but the truth was Julie
thought more of her dogs and horses than even of himself, he
sometimes thought,--almost, but not quite; "ha! ha! really, don't you
know!" While, judging by the comparative behaviour of dog and man,
the balance was decidedly in favour of Jupiter. But you see I never like
men who dress like ladies, I had lost my young plants, and I love dogs
from mongrel all up the ladder (lap dogs excepted), so I may be
prejudiced.
After Bertel had carefully removed the splintered glass from the earth,
so that I could take account of my damaged stock, about half seemed to
be redeemable; but even those poor seedlings looked like soldiers after
battle, a limb gone here and an eye missing there.
At supper father, Evan, and I were silent and ceremoniously polite,
neither referring to the day's disasters, and I could see that the boys
were regarding us with open-eyed wonder. When the meal was almost

finished, the bell of the front door rang and Effie returned, bearing a
large, ornamental basket, almost of the proportions of a hamper, with a
card fastened conspicuously to the handle, upon which was printed
"With apologies from Jupiter!" Inside was a daintily arranged
assortment of hothouse vegetables,--cucumbers, tomatoes, eggplant
eggs, artichokes,--with a separate basket in one corner brimming with
strawberries, and in the other a pink tissue-paper parcel, tied with
ribbon, containing mushrooms, proving that, after all, fussy Mr.
Vandeveer has the saving grace of humour.
My righteous garden-indignation dwindled; laughter caught me by the
throat and quenched the remainder. Evan, knowing nothing of the
concatenation, but scenting something from the card, joined
sympathetically. Glancing at father, I saw that his nose was twitching,
and in a moment his shoulders began to shake and he led the general
confession that followed. It seems that he arrived at the hospital really
the day of the consultation, but found that the patient, in need of
surgical care, had been seized with nervous panic and gone home!
After such a thoroughly vulgar day there is really nothing to do but
laugh and plan something pleasant for to-morrow, unless you prefer
crying, which, though frequently a relief to the spirit, is particularly bad
for eye wrinkles in the middle-aged.
May-day. I always take this as a holiday, and give myself up to any sort
of outdoor folly that comes into my head. There is nothing more
rejuvenating than to let one's self thoroughly go now and then.
Then, besides, to an American, May-day is usually a surprise in itself.
You never can tell what it will bring, for it is by no means the amiable
and guileless child of the poets, breathing perfumed south wind and
followed by young lambs through meadows knee deep in grass and
flowers.
In the course of fifteen years I have seen four May-days when there
was enough grass to blow in the wind and frost had wholly left for the
season; to balance this there have been two brief snow squalls, three
deluges that washed even big beans out of ground, and a scorching

drought that reduced the brooks, unsheltered by leafage, to August
shallowness. But to-day has been entirely lovable and full of the
promise that after all makes May the garden month of the year, the time
of perfect faith, hope, and charity when we may believe all things!
This morning I took a stroll in the woods, partly to please the dogs, for
though they always run free, they smile and wag furiously when they
see the symptoms that tell that I am going beyond the garden. What a
difference there is between the north and south side of things! On the
south slope the hepaticas have gone and the columbines show a trace of
red blood, while on the north, one is in perfection and the other only as
yet making leaves. This is a point to be remembered in the garden, by
which the season of blooming can be lengthened for almost all plants
that do not demand full, unalloyed sun, like the rose and pink families.
Every year I am more and more surprised at the hints that can be
carried from the wild to the cultivated. For instance, the local soil in
which the native plants of a given family nourish is almost always sure
to agree better with its cultivated, and perhaps tropical, cousin than the
most elaborately