I
THEN THEY WENT DOWN INTO THE STRAWBERRY PATCH
JUNE, the month of roses, and strawberries. The beautiful month when spring is just turning to summer, and summer is giving us her first rare gifts.
In Davy's garden the corn was up, and had grown more in two weeks than the corn planted in the house had grown in four. It was the long sunny days that did this, and the showers that seemed to come almost too often, but perhaps the gardens didn't think so, for they grew, and the weeds grew, too, and kept Prue and Davy busy pulling and hoeing and cultivating.
Davy's radishes were big enough to eat just a month from the day they were planted—think of it!—when those planted in the house had taken ever and ever so long. Prue's pansies and sweet-pease, and her other three "sweets" were all up, too, and so green and flourishing.
But perhaps the thing that made them both happiest, at this season, was the Chief Gardener's strawberry-patch. Either that or big Prue's roses—they were not sure which.
"When I grow up, I am going to have acres and acres of strawberries," said Davy.
"And miles and miles of roses," said Prue.
"And herds and herds of little Jersey cows that only give the richest cream," said the Chief Gardener.