We went up soon after to look at the farm. We found it very much as we had left it, except that there hung about it that indescribable something we call spring. We tramped about on the spongy ground, and sniffed the sweet air, and looked at the apple buds, and kicked up the soft, matted maple leaves to see the grass starting underneath. "Oh, Jonathan! Our bulbs!" I exclaimed. We hurried over to them and lifted up the thick blanket of leaves and hay we had left over them. "Look! A crocus!" I said. "And here's a snowdrop! Let's take off these leaves and give them a chance." "Dear me!" I sighed; "isn't it wonderful? To think those hard little bullets we put in last fall should do all this! And here's the phlox just starting--look--" "Oh, you can't kill phlox," said Jonathan imperturbably. "All the better. I hate not giving people credit for things just because they come natural." "That is a curious sentence," said Jonathan. "Never mind. You know what I mean. You've understood a great many more curious ones than that. Listen, Jonathan. Why couldn't I put in my seeds now? I brought them along." "Why--yes--it's pretty early for anything but peas, but you can try, of course. What are they? Sweet alyssum and pansy?" "Yes--and I did get a few sweet peas too," I hesitated. "I thought Henry hadn't much to do yet, and perhaps he could make a trench--you know it needs a trench." "Yes, I know," said Jonathan. I think he smiled. "Let's see your seeds." "They're at the house. Come over to the south porch, where it's warm, and we'll plan about them." I opened the bundle and laid out the little packets with their gay pictures indicating what the seeds within might be expected to do. "Sweet alyssum and pansies," I said, "and here are the sweet peas." Jonathan took them--"'Dorothy Eckford, Lady Grisel Hamilton, Gladys Unwin, Early Dawn, White Spencer,' By George! you mean to keep Henry busy! Here's ten ounces of peas!" "They were so much cheaper by the ounce," I murmured. "And--hold up! Did you know they gave you some asters? These aren't sweet peas." "No--I know--but I thought--you see, sweet peas are over by August, and asters go on all through October--don't you remember what lovely ones Christabel had?" "Hm! But isn't the world full of asters, anyway, in September and October, without your planting any more?" He grinned a little. "I thought that was your idea--you said Christabel grubbed so." "Why, yes; but asters aren't any trouble. You just put them in--" "And weed them." "Yes--and weed them; but I wouldn't mind that." "But here's some larkspur!" "Yes, but I didn't buy that," I explained, hurriedly. "Christabel sent me that. She thought I might like some from her garden--she has such lovely larkspurs, don't you remember? And I just brought them along." "Yes. So I see. Is that all you've just brought along?"