and when all was done delightedly watched the vigorous growth of my well-housed darlings. Alas! short and sweet was my day of content.
One fatal January night the mercury dropped suddenly to zero, and (as luck would have it) the furnace fire followed suit, and, in the morning, I awoke to find my precious plants stark and stiff against the panes.
We promptly showered them with ice-cold water ("a hair of the dog that bit you" advises the old proverb). In vain! The blighted foliage stood black and shriveled in the morning sunshine!
"All the King's horses and all the King's men
Couldn't bring Humpty Dumpty up again!"
All that could be done was to clip away the frost-bitten members, mellow the soil, and await a fresh supply of sap from the uninjured roots.
As a matter of course the slowly recuperating plants could no longer be left to the random winter gambols of tricky "Mudjekeewis," but must be relegated to the old-time safety of window-seat and flower-stand.
Thus ended my day-dream of a conservatory!
Under this dispensation I consoled myself by nursing the invalids back to health and comparative prosperity, and, in late February, they amply repaid my care by abundant leafage and wealth of bloom.
Meantime, the Freesias, and Narcissi, the Hyacinths and Tritelias, came one after another from the dark cellar, to sit in the sun, and cheer our wintry days with odor and bloom, and give delight to the dear invalid Lady.
And here let me say that of all winter gardening I have found the house cultivation of bulbs most interesting and repaying.