ping her work in her garden of nature. This was a wide bed which
was almost entirely shaded by two large trees. The peculiarity about
this bed was that its mistress carefully pulled up all the flowering
plants and cultivated the weeds.

"You see," said she to Olive, "I planted here a lot of flower-seeds
which I thought would thrive in the shade, but they did not, and after a
while I found that they were all spindling and puny-looking, while the
weeds were growing as if they were out in the open sunshine, so I have
determined to acknowledge the principle of the survival of the fittest,
and whenever anything that looks like a flower shows itself I jerk it
out. I also thin out all but the best weeds. I hoe and rake the others,
and water them if necessary. Look at that splendid Jamestown weed--here
they call it jimson weed--did you ever see anything finer than that with
its great white blossoms and dark-green leaves? I expect it to be twice
as large before the summer is over. And all these others. See how
graceful they are, and what delicate flowers some of them have!"

"I wonder," said Olive, "if I should have had the strength of mind to
pull up my flowers and leave my weeds."

"The more you think about it," said Mrs. Easterfield, "the more you like
weeds. They have such fine physiques, and they don't ask anybody to do
anything for them. They are independent, like self-made men, and come up
of themselves. They laugh at disadvantages, and even bricks and
flagstones will not keep them down."

"But, after all," said Olive, "give me the flowers that can not take
care of themselves." And she turned toward a bed of carnations, bright
under the morning sun.

"Do you suppose, little girl," said Mrs. Easterfield, following her,
"that I do not like flowers because I do like weeds? Everything in its
place; weeds are for the shady spots, but I keep my flowers out of such
places. This flower, for instance," touching Olive on the cheek. "And
now let us go into the house and see what pleasant thing we can find to
do there."

In the afternoon the two ladies went out rowing on the river, and Mrs.
Easterfield was astonished at Olive's proficiency with the oar. She had
thought herself a good oarswoman, but she was nothing to Olive. She
good-naturedly acknowledged her inferiority, however. How could she
expect to compete with a navy girl? she said.

"Are you fond of swimming?" asked Olive, as she looked down into the
bright, clear wat