When Bella remembered what their garden used to be, and all that they used to get out of it, she, young though she was, was startled. She was more than startled, she was shocked too, for if this was the state of things now, what were they going to do for vegetables all the rest of the year? There was nothing to come on for the winter, no carrots or turnips, no onions or cabbages, leeks or celery,—and they used to have all in abundance. The difference between care and neglect, thrift and waste, plenty and want, were brought home to her very plainly at that moment.
She had always been so much with her father and mother and other grown-up people, that she understood as well as a woman how much they depended on the garden for food.
Tom and Charlie came up and joined her, wondering what she was looking at so solemnly.
"What's wrong?" they asked. "What are you looking for?"
"Sage," said Bella, gravely, "and there isn't a bit; there isn't anything. Whatever we shall do all the winter, I don't know."
"Where's the herb-bed?" asked Tom.
"Here, we're looking at it. Mother used to keep it nice and full, she used to see how many kinds of herbs she could grow. Oh, you remember, Tom, don't you?"
"Yes," said Tom; "she had thyme and lemon-thyme, parsley, and sage, and endive and borage, and—oh, I forget. She used to make me say them over, and tell her which was which. I wish we'd taken more care of it," he added, with sudden shame for his neglect.
A brilliant idea flashed into Bella's mind, filling her with pleasure, "Oh!" she cried, excitedly, "I know what I'll do, I'll make it nice again, I'll take care of it, and plant herbs in it, just as mother used to do. Where's the fork, Tom? I want to begin."
"I'll get it, but let me help. Let me dig it over the first time; shall I, Bella?"