and the commando, after stopping to bite some priceless pot plants
of your neighbour's as they come out, skips easily back over the fence
and through your gate into the street again.

If a horse gets in his hoofs make no impression on the firm turf
of the Parramatta grass, and you get quite a hearty laugh
by dropping a chair on him from the first-floor window.

The game fowls of your other neighbour come fluttering into your garden,
and scratch and chuckle and fluff themselves under your plumbago bush;
but you don't worry. Why should you? They can't hurt it; and, besides,
you know that the small black hen and the big yellow one,
who have disappeared from the throng, are even now laying their daily egg
for you behind the thickest bush.

Your little dog rushes frantically up and down the front bed
of your garden, barking and racing, and tearing up the ground,
because his rival little dog, who lives down the street, is going past
with his master, and each pretends that he wants to be at the other --
as they have pretended every day for the past three years. The performance
he is going through doesn't disturb you. Why should it? By following
the directions in this article you have selected plants he cannot hurt.

After breakfasting at noon, you stroll out, and, perhaps,
smooth with your foot, or with your spade, the inequalities
made by the hens; you gather up casually the eggs they have laid;
you whistle to your little dog, and go out for a stroll with a light heart.