neither he nor I could prevision the plight the shiny new runabout would
be in before it was many hours older. With a stoical reserve he loaded
in the two young lilacs that were in the exact state of sappiness
Grandmother Nelson had recommended for transplanting, but his calmness
nearly gave way when I had him put in a dandy old rake and spade and hoe
that I had found in my raid on the cellar.

"Please ma'am, Miss Betty, don't go and leave ole mistis's gyarden tools
out in no rain," he entreated, plaintively.

"Oh, Eph, are they really Grandmother Nelson's?" I exclaimed, with such
radiance that it reflected from Eph's polished black face.

"Yes'm, and they is too good to be throwed away on playing gyarden or
sich," he answered, with feeling.

"Eph," I answered, with almost a choke in my voice, "they'll be--be
sacred to me. Oh, thank you for telling me."

"Go on, child! you shore is ole mistis herself, with your pretty words
to push along your high-haided ways," he answered me while he gave
Redwheels an affectionate shove as I started down the street.

I didn't spend much time down-town, but I stopped at the post-office and
got my mail to read while I waited at the drug-store for Mr. Simmons to
put up some of every kind of flower and vegetable grandmother
mentioned--if it was still in stock. He offered me a book of
instructions, which I declined. I meant to garden by ancestral
tendencies. And while I waited I looked over my letters. The volume from
Peter I put aside to enjoy in a leisure hour, as I felt sure that I knew