"Yes," said Prue, putting out three fingers. "Annuals that have to die every fall, like my sweet-pease. Bi-yennials, that have to die every other fall, like Davy's turnips. Only we don't let 'em die—we kill 'em and eat 'em just when they are ready for their best time. Perennials, that have a lot of ways to live and never die at all."
The Chief Gardener laughed.
"Well, that's pretty good for a little girl. I think we might almost make a poem out of it.
"The annuals we plant each spring—
They perish in the fall;
Biennials die the second year,
Perennials not at all."
"I've made a rhyme, too," said Prue. "It's about the kinds of plants in a different way. This is it:
"The kinds of plants are these—
Herbs, shrubs, and trees."