'But I'm not insultin' God's flowers
tryin' to pass them off for French ones, Annie,' says she. 'I'm settin'
a new garden fashion; let them follow who will!' and away wid her! That
same other is in here now, and it's no sin to let yer peep, gin it's ye
own posies and ye chest they're in." So, throwing open the door
Anastasia revealed the slate shelf covered by a sheet of white paper,
while resting on an empty pickle jar, for a support, was the second hat,
of loosely woven black straw braid, an ornamental wire edging the brim
that would allow it to take a dozen shapes at will. It was garlanded by
a close-set wreath of crimson peonies grading down to blush, all in half
bud except one full-blown beauty high in front and one under the brim
set well against the hair, while covering the wire, caught firm and
close, were glossy, fragrant leaves of the wild sweetbrier made into a
vine.
Ah, well, this is an unexpected development born of our experiment and a
human sort of chronicle for The Garden, You, and I.
One of the most puzzling things in this living out-of-doors on our own
place is the reversal of our ordinary viewpoints.
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