“What part of the garden are you going to give us, Cousin Agnes?� asked David.
“Let’s go and look over the ground,� said Mrs. Wilson. “I’ve just had it plowed and harrowed, ready for planting.�
She led the way to the big, old-fashioned garden. In front were beds of hardy flowers, and arbors and summerhouses covered with roses and jasmine and honeysuckle. Back of the flowers were vegetable beds and rows of raspberries and gooseberries and fig bushes. And in a far corner, hedged by boxwood and carpeted with blue-starred periwinkle, rose the lichened marble slabs of the family burying-ground.
David, the star member of the county Corn Club, looked admiringly at the fertile vegetable beds. “Gee!� he exclaimed. “I’d beat the record if my corn acre was like this; it’s rich as cream.�
“It has been a garden more than a hundred years,� said Mrs. Wilson. “Broad Acres was the first clearing in the wilderness where The Village is now. Here, boys, I am going to give you this sunny southeast square. Now, let’s see who are our gardeners. You’ll join, won’t you, Albert?� she said kindly to Albert Smith, who stood uncomfortably apart from any of the friendly groups.
“No. I can’t,� he said abruptly. Then he turned his head with a queer little gesture as if he were listening to hear how his speech sounded. He added confusedly: “My uncle needs me to come home. I came to ask the arithmetic page lesson.�
Mrs. Wilson indicated the page and then, as he slipped away, she turned to the other boys. All except Dick Osborne enrolled as members of The Village War-Garden Club. Meanwhile, the girls were whispering together, and Patsy became their spokeswoman.
“Cousin Agnes,� she said, “we want to war-garden, too.�
“Y-yes, mother,� said Ruth. “We’ve been having flower gardens; why c-can’t we raise real things, beans and potatoes?�
“You can; of course you can,� said her mother.