"We, a pair of natural spendthrifts, are actually turning miserly for
the garden's sake.

"Last night Bart went to the attic with a lantern and dragged from
obscurity two frightful misfit suits of the first bicycle
cuff-on-the-pants period, that were ripening in the camphor chest for
future missionary purposes, announcing that these, together with some
flannel shirts, would be his summer outfit, while this morning I went
into town and did battle at a sale of substantial, dollar shirt-waists,
and turning my back upon all the fascinations of little girls' frills
and fur-belows, bought stout gingham for aprons and overalls, into which
I shall presently pop the Infant, and thus save both stitches and
laundry work.

"Mother has sent a note expressing her pleasure in our plan and
enclosing a cheque for $50, suggesting that it should be put into a
birthday rose bed--my birthday is in two days--in miniature like the old
garden at her home on the north Virginia border. I'm sending you the
list of such roses as she remembered that were in it, but I'm sure
many, like Gloire de Dijon, would be winter killed here. Will you revise
the list for me?

"Bart has arranged to shut off the back hall and stairs, so that when we
wish, we can get to our indoor bedroom and bath at any hour without
going through the house or disturbing its routine.

"Anastasia has been heard to express doubts as to our entire sanity
confidentially to Barney, on his return from the removal of two cots
from the attic to the part of the barn enclosed by some old piazza
screens, thereby publicly declaring our intention of sleeping out in all