“Something plain, so the visitor’s eye won’t be drawn to the benches instead of the flowers,” recommended Helen. “Suppose we were sitting here, for instance, and looking toward the flower beds—there will be some tables and chairs between us and the flowers, probably—”
“If the seeds will only grow,” Dorothy sighed comically.
“—and we want to forget them and not have them intrude on our attention.”
“Correct!” James Hancock thumped the ground by way of applause.
“What’s the plainest pattern there is?” asked Della, extending her hand for a book.
“That one—but that’s too plain,” remonstrated Ethel Blue. “That’s so plain that it draws your attention as much as if it were all fussed up.”
They laughed at her disgust and urged her to choose the next plainest.
“I rather think this one with cross bars is pretty,” she decided seriously. “You wouldn’t get tired of that—especially if they’re all painted dark green so you won’t see them much.”
“You girls seem to want to have invisible furniture,” grinned Roger. “Me for something more substantial.”
“These will be substantial enough—they’re made of cypress,” retorted Helen, “but you don’t want to see a lot of chairs and benches when you come out to observe the beauties of nature, my child.”