"Then," said Bart, "I'm going to transplant the growth on this knoll,
root and branch, herb and shrub, moss and fern, to our own, if it takes
me until Christmas! It isn't often that a man finds an illustrated plan
with all the materials for carrying it out under his hand for merely the
taking. There are enough young hemlocks up there to windbreak our whole
garden. The thing I'm not sure about is just when it will do to begin
the transplanting. Meanwhile I'll make a list of the plants we know that
we can add to as others develop and blossom."

So he set to work on his list then and there, _The Man from Everywhere_
helping, because he can name a plant from its leaves or even the twigs.

I said that I would write to you _at once_ and ask you or Evan to tell
us about the best way to transplant all the wild things, except woody
shrubs and trees, because we know it's best to wait for those until leaf
fall. But as it turns out, I've waited six days--oh! such aggravating
days when there is so much to decide and do!

That afternoon _The Man_ rode home with us, as a matter of course, we
quite forgetting that instead of late dinner, as usual, the meal would
be tea, as the Infant and Maria Maxwell are to dine now at one! As a
shower threatened, it seemed much more natural for us to turn into the
house than the camp, and before I knew how it happened I was sitting at
the head of my own table serving soup instead of tea! I dared not look
at Maria, but as the meal was nearly ended she remarked demurely,
looking out of the west window to where the shower was passing off
slantwise, leaving a glorious sunset trail in its wake, "Wouldn't you
like to have your coffee in camp, as the rain forced you to take dinner
indoors?" by which I knew that Maria would not allow us to lose sight of
our outdoor intentions.