NOVEMBER
NOVEMBER
I
THERE ARE ANNUALS, BIENNIALS, AND PERENNIALS
BUT November was not all brown and dry. The warm days lingered. The lawn kept green, and suddenly about the house there was the most wonderful glory of yellow and rose and white and crimson, for the radiant flower of autumn, the chrysanthemum, was in full bloom. How beautiful the flowers were when the sun was bright, and when it was cloudy they seemed to have kept some of the sunlight and cheer to make the dooryard glad.
"I don't remember when you planted the chrysanthemums," said Prue, one bright morning to the Chief Gardener.
"No, it was when you were a very little girl—about four years ago."