"And love-in-a-mist, and forget-me-nots, and sweet peas, and hollyhocks. Only the hollyhocks are not going to be in the garden, but in a long row back there, to screen away the kitchen garden from the lawn. Only—oh, dear, you have to wait so long for the things you want most! Hollyhocks don't bloom the first year from seed—and I want to see them there this first summer, pink and white and red and yellow in the sun, like a row of children dressed for a party."
"Can't you get plants somewhere?"
"Perhaps, from the neighbours—only country people don't go in much for the old-fashioned flowers now. They have rubber-plants and hydrangeas—in tubs—just think—in tubs! And geraniums in tomato cans!"
"Sally! Not all of them. They have nasturtiums—."
"Yes, and pink sweet peas beside them, to set one's teeth on edge. By the way, my sweet peas are in!" Her voice proclaimed triumph, and she led the way down one of the damp, moss-grown paths to a sunny spot where a long strip of freshly raked earth showed that somebody had lately been at work. "Bob dug it up for me, Uncle Timmy fertilized it, I raked it and planted the seeds, while the whole family stood around and gave advice. Max wanted them sowed thinner and Alec thicker. I consulted the seed catalogue and the directions on the paper packet, and then sowed them just as my judgment directed."
"As you haven't a particle of judgment—"
"Experience, you mean. No, I haven't experience, but I consider that I have judgment, and I sowed the seeds according to that. In June I will pick you a gorgeous bunch of them."
"In June—if I'm not away somewhere. In which case you can send them to me in a paste-board box."
"Joey Burnside!" Sally picked up a rake lying in the path and brandished it fiercely. "Don't you dare to go away—anywhere. You're to come and visit me—from June till September."
"How would May till November do?"