"Papa," said Davy, who had been silent all this time, "are there really any plant families that don't have wild members who behave badly and become just weeds?" "I don't remember any real weeds in the Lily family, Davy, though almost any plant will become a weed if allowed to run wild and live in fence corners, like a tramp. They become prodigals then, like the man's son in the Bible. And sometimes they come back to the garden, as the prodigal son did, to become well-behaved and useful flowers again. Of course, there are many others that have always lived wild in the woods and fields, and are not called weeds, because they do not spread and destroy other plants. These are our wild flowers, and the world would be poor, indeed, without them. Sometimes we bring them into the garden, and make them grow larger and call them by a new name. And sometimes, I am sorry to say, a sweet wild flower will suddenly spread and overrun the fields and become almost a weed. I am afraid our beautiful daisies are becoming a weed to a good many farmers. Those fields that are like banks of snow, and so beautiful to us, must worry the man who owns them and cannot get rid of the millions of 'rare Marguerites!'" Little Prue sighed. "Oh, dear," she said, "it's just too bad that there isn't some flower, or somebody, or something that can be just every bit good, all the time, to everybody." The Chief Gardener smiled. "We can only do our very best," he said. AUGUST AUGUST I THERE ARE JUST TWO KINDS OF LEAVES A GOOD many things were ripe in August, and some of the things were through blooming. Prue did not plant a great deal. It was too hot to dig long in the sun, and then there did not seem to be much in the way of flowers that could be planted so late. Davy planted a few turnips and some late beans and salad, because there was time for these, but even Davy found it pleasanter to sit in the shade, where there was a breeze, and pull plants to pieces and talk about Exogens and Endogens and the different parts of things, than to hoe and dig and rake on an August day. The Chief Gardener heard quite loud voices under the peach-trees, one warm afternoon. Prue and Davy were not really quarreling, but they seemed to be a good deal in earnest about something. The Chief Gardener went over there. "What is all the excitement?" he asked. Davy held up and waved a large stem of very coarse grass. "It's an Endogen," he said, very decidedly, "isn't it, Papa?" "It isn't at all, is it, Papa?" eagerly asked little Prue. The Chief Gardener took the plumey stem and sat down. "Why do you think it is an Endogen, Davy?" he asked. "Because it's a grass, and belongs to the grass family. And corn belongs to the grass family, too, and corn is an Endogen, for it has a big pith instead of rings. So if corn is an Endogen, grass is, too." The Chief Gardener smiled.