sm than judgment, to have a real flower garden beside our new
house.

I built a low rock wall around the space I had selected, and piled it
full of rich black loam as fine as any green-house could afford. Father
had sent seeds from the old garden at home, and various friends had
contributed from their gardens in the East. These seeds had been planted
in boxes which I kept near the stove until frost was gone. They were
full of promising plants. Hollyhocks, larkspur, pansies, and foxglove
were ready to transplant, when a terrible catastrophe occurred--a little
neighbor girl called on me, and, finding me gone, was right peeved. She
entertained herself by uprooting my posies. With a complete thoroughness
she mixed plants and dirt together, stirring water into the mixture with
my trowel. If her grown-up cake-making is done as conscientiously as was
that job, she'll be a wonderful pastry cook! I discovered the mischief
while it was still fresh, and out of the wreckage salvaged a few brave
seedlings. They pouted awhile before they took heart, and root, but
finally perked up again. Time healed their wounds and if an ambitious
squirrel hadn't been looking for a place to hide a nut I might still
have taken prizes in the state fair. As it was, only a very few sturdy
plants lived to grace the garden. They flourished, and I had begun to
look in their direction without crossing my fingers when a hungry cow
and her yearling boy appeared on the scene.

"Help yourself, son!" Ma cow said, suiting her actions to the advice
given.

Midsummer found a lonely cactus and a horned toad blooming in my garden.

The weather got hotter and more hot, and my bird bath was duly
appreciated by the feathered population. They gathered there in flocks,
and the news went far and wide that water was to be had at the Chief's
house. All the birds that had been fed during the winter brought their
aunts, uncles, and cousins seventy times seven removed, until all I had
to do was lie in my hammock and identify them from a book with colored
plates.

White Mountain's special pet was a tiny chickadee. This fragile little
speck of birddom fluttered into the house one stormy day, and the Chief
warmed it in his hands and fed it warm milk and crumbs. From that day on
it belonged, brave soul and wee body, to him. As the days grew warmer it
spent its time somewhere in the forest, but at mealtime when the Chief
came home all he had to do was step outside the door and