The
Children's Garden.
LONG time ago, when I was a little girl,
there lived next door to us an old lady who
had a beautiful garden. At least Barbara
and I and Arthur and the twins thought it was
a beautiful garden, though it wasn't tlie least bit
like other gardens we knew about.
One thing that made it nice was that there
was no gardener to tell you that you must keep
out, and who looked cross if you even peeped
through the fence. The old lady herself was the
gardener, and she said that anvone who really
loved tiowers loved children, and she never minded
our coming into the garden, although of course we
understood that we were to he well-mannered, and
not destroy things; and we loved the old lady so
well that we never picked the Howers without
asking. Another reason why we liked the garden
was because it was not kept very trim and neat
and regular, like a gardener's garden, hut just grew
a good deal as it pleased. The hollvhocks bumped
up against the sweet peas, and the poppies grew in
the grassy borders, and the phlox was mixed in
with the asparagus, and the myrtle spread round
under the trees wherever it wanted to go ; and we
children knew that all the flowers enjoyed having
their liberty. There were clumps of marguerites
in the open spaces, and black-eyed Susans in the
orchard, and the old lady was just as fond of these
as she was of her lilies and tulips. We children
loved them a little better, because we could pick
as many as we liked, and they made such beautiful
daisy chains.q
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