pick out those places to grow in where my sweetest things were planted,
and utterly defied the three meek men when they made periodical and
feeble efforts to get rid of them. I have a large heart in regard to
things that grow, and many a weed that would not be tolerated anywhere
else is allowed to live and multiply undisturbed in my garden. They are
such pretty things, some of them, such charmingly audacious things, and
it is so particularly nice of them to do all their growing, and
flowering, and seed-bearing without any help or any encouragement. I
admit I feel vexed if they are so officious as to push up among my tea
roses and pansies, and I also prefer my paths without them; but on the
grass, for instance, why not let the poor little creatures enjoy
themselves quietly, instead of going out with a dreadful instrument and
viciously digging them up one by one? Once I went into the garden just
as the last of the three inept ones had taken up his stand, armed with
this implement, in the middle of the sheet of gold and silver that is
known for convenience' sake as the lawn, and was scratching his head, as
he looked round, in a futile effort to decide where he should begin. I
saved the dandelions and daisies on that occasion, and I like to believe
they know it. They certainly look very jolly when I come out, and I
rather fancy the dandelions dig each other in their little ribs when
they see me, and whisper, "Here comes Elizabeth; she's a good sort,
ain't she?"--for of course dandelions do not express themselves very
elegantly.

But nettles are not to be tolerated. They settled the question on which
I had been turning my back for so long, and one fine August morning,
when there seemed to be nothing in the garden but nettles, and it was
hard to believe that we had ever been doing anything but carefully
cultivating them in all their varieties, I walked into the Man of
Wrath's den.