WE have come to see your garden, said a gentleman with a lady in company. They were from a neighboring town. This two weeks after the heavy frost!
I told them my garden was in the stable, and thither I piloted them. It was not a very small garden if it was in a stable. A hundred or more plants had been hurriedly removed from the beds the day before that freezing night! There they were, in the soiled pots just as taken from the ground, or packed closely in boxes. Not very attractive looking, in one sense, yet in another they were, for they were bright, healthy appearing plants—leaves as fresh as when in the open air, pretty Geraniums in bloom, a mass of Lobelia, attractive with their tiny blue flowers, Coleus of varied hues, and even a few Roses struggling into bloom.
Then we strolled among the despoiled beds, and the Pansies, so large and pert, elicited admiration, and the Sweet Peas, just as fragrant as though blight were not all around them, while dear little Mignonnette seemed to have taken a new lease of life.
Yesterday I arranged in a shallow glass dish as handsome a bouquet as I have had for the season. Sweet Clover sprays, Mignonnette and fragrant Geranium leaves for the foundation all around the dish, a few bunches of the little white wax balls, with their glossy leaves, Geranium blossoms, and lots of Sweet Peas, from the most delicate shades to the deepest, and bunches of splendid Pansies, Sweet Alyssum, a bit of purple Verbena here and there, and white-eyed Phlox. It was just lovely.
When the evidence was sure that frost was surely coming, and a great many plants must be taken up in a few hours' time, I was so glad that full half of them were in pots. I could never have potted a third of them in the time. The great object was to get them sheltered, and the repotting could be done at my leisure.