“You forget that wild flowers have been my special care this summer,” returned Helen, withdrawing to a point where she would not interfere with Roger’s plans. “Dorothy’s wild garden is only a copy of mine.”
“Not in arrangement. Hers is prettier with everything piled up on the stones this way—columbines, ferns, wild ginger, hepaticas.”
“You’re right about that. Mine had to be in a regular bed. Are you going to take a picture of the vegetable garden?”
“Certainly I am. And of tomatoes that were started with and without dirt bands.”
Roger’s chief attention during the summer garden campaign had been devoted to the raising of vegetables, while the girls had done wonders with flowers.
“What are dirt bands?” inquired Helen.
“I know,” cried the voice of Ethel Brown who came in sight through the pergola. “They’re brown paper cuffs to put around young plants. It keeps the earth all close and cozy and warm and they grow faster than the ones that don’t wear such fine clothes.”
“Listen to that,” Roger said approvingly to Helen. “Those Ethels haven’t let anything slip that happened in any of our gardens all summer. They know all about everything!”
“Roger is in a very complimentary mood this morning,” laughed Helen. “If I could only think of something to say I’d be polite in return.”
“I’m sorry it doesn’t come to you spontaneously,” replied her brother, “but what care I?” and he broke into song: