"No, I do not mean that. I mean something the plant gets from the soil itself."
"I do not understand! Well, my dear, write them word where the peas must go."
Lois laughed again.
"I hardly know myself, till I have studied the map," she said. "I mean, the map of the garden. It is a more difficult matter than you can guess, to arrange all the new order every spring; all has to be changed; and upon where the peas go depends, perhaps, where the cabbages go, and the corn, and the tomatoes, and everything else. It is a matter for study."
"Can't somebody else do it for you?" Mrs. Wishart asked compassionately.
"There is no one else. We have just our three selves; and all that is done we do; and the garden is under my management."
"Well, my dear, you are wonderful women; that is all I have to say. But, Lois, you must pay me a visit by and by in the summer time; I must have that; I shall go to the Isles of Shoals for a while, and I am going to have you there."
"If I can be spared from home, dear Mrs. Wishart, it would be delightful!"