For an instant there stood there before his flower-loving eyes the
joyful tangle of fresh green vines, the pearly many-colored flesh of the
petals, their cunning, involved symmetry of form--all sprung from a
handful of wrinkled yellow seeds and that ugly mixture of powdered stone
and rotten decay.

It was a wonderful business, he thought.

Mrs. Crittenden emerged from her house now, in a short skirt, rough
heavy shoes, and old flannel shirt. She looked, he thought, ever so trig
and energetic and nice; but suddenly aware that Vincent was gazing idly
out of an upper window at them, he guessed that the other man would not
admire the costume. Vincent was so terribly particular about how ladies
dressed, he thought to himself, as he moved forward, mattock in hand.

"I'm ashamed to show you how dumb I am about the use of these tools," he
told her, laughing shamefacedly. "I don't suppose you'll believe me, but
honestly I never had a pick-mattock in my hand till I went down to the
store to buy one. I might as well go the whole hog and confess I'd never
even heard of one till you told me to get it. Is this the way you use
it?" He jabbed ineffectually at the earth with the mattock, using a
short tight blow with a half-arm movement. The tool jarred itself half
an inch into the ground and was almost twisted out of his hand.

"No, not quite," she said, taking the heavy tool out of his hand. If she
were aware of the idle figure at the upper window, she gave no sign of
it. She laid her strong, long, flexible hands on the handle, saying,
"So, you hold it this way. Then you swing it up, back of your head.
There's a sort of knack to that. You'll soon catch it. And then, if the