Clematis went out, rather slowly. The letter made her think again of the end of her stay, and she was sad.
But the sun was bright, the breeze was cool, and the birds sang merrily.
She saw Mr. Alder down in the garden, and ran to him.
“Can I help you, Mr. Alder?”
“I think not. I am weeding late carrots, and I think you would not know them from weeds.”
“I should know them, honestly. Just let me try a little bit.”
“Well, then, take this little trowel. Make the earth loose around them, and then pull the weeds out with your fingers.”
Clematis kneeled in the soft earth, and began to work with the trowel.
She weeded the row across from Mr. Alder, where he could see what she was doing.
“Well, I declare! You are a real gardener.” Mr. Alder patted her shoulder, and praised her well when she had done several feet of her row.