“May I inquire, madam, what on earth—” began Roger, but Ethel Brown’s exclamation enlightened him.
“You’re making Japanese gardens!”
“I’m going to try to. I think they’re awfully pretty and cunning. Let’s each make one.”
Mrs. Smith had bought a professionally made garden at an Oriental shop in New York, and the girls were seized with a desire to copy it.
“Here’s the real thing,” and Dorothy indicated a flat bowl of gray and dull green pottery. In it were some stones outlining the bed of a stream over which stretched the span of a tiny porcelain bridge. A twisted tree that looked aged in spite of its height of only three inches reared its evergreen head at one end of the bridge; a patch of grass the size of three fingers grew greenly at the other end, and a goldfish swam happily in a pool at the side.
“Margaret told me that horse-radish would grow if you kept it damp and let it sprout, so I’ve got several pieces started for our gardens.”
Sure enough, the horse-radish had sent forth shoots and a head of small leaves quite tall enough for the size of the garden, and its body looked brownish and gnarled like some bit of queer Oriental wood. Dorothy had taken up little plants of running growth like partridge berry and she had collected many wee ferns.
“We can sprinkle a pinch or two of grass seed and bird seed over them all when they’re done,” she said. “That ought to bring up something fresh every little while.”
“These will be all started for your housewarming,” suggested Helen.
“That’s why I’m doing them. We can leave them here, and I’ll come over every day so they’ll be watered. I think they’ll be awfully pretty and they’ll be different from the usual decorations.”