"Yes--except the cosmos. The florist advised that, and I thought there might be a place for it over by the fence. And of course we needn't use it if we don't want to. I can give it to Mrs. Stone." "But here's some nasturtiums!" "Oh--I forgot about them--but I didn't buy them either. They came from the Department of Agriculture or something. There were some carrots and parsnips, and things like that, too, all in a big brown envelope. I knew you had all the other things you wanted, so I just brought these. But of course I don't have to plant _them_, either." "But you don't like nasturtiums. You've always said they made you think of railway stations and soldiers' homes--" "Well, I did use to feel that way,--anchors and crosses and rock-work on big shaved lawns,--and, besides, nasturtiums always seemed to be the sort of flowers that people picked with short stems, and tied up in a wad, and stuck in a blue-glass goblet, and set on a table with a red cover on it. I did have horrible associations with nasturtiums." "Then why in thunder do you plant them?" "I only thought--if there was a drought this summer--you know they don't mind drought; Millie Sutphen told me that. And she had a way of cutting them with long stems, so they trailed, and they were really lovely. And then--there the package _was_--I thought it wouldn't do any harm to take it." "Oh, you don't have to apologize," said Jonathan. "I didn't understand your plan, that was all. I'll go and see Henry about the trench." I sat on the sunny porch and the March wind swept by the house on each side of me. I gloated over my seed packets. Would they come up? Of course other people's seeds came up, but would mine? It was very exciting. I pinched open a corner of the Lady Grisel Hamiltons and poured some of the pretty, smooth, fawn-colored balls into my hand. Then I opened the cosmos--what funny long thin ones! How long should I have to wait till they began to come up? I read the directions--"Plant when all danger from frost is past." Oh, dear! that meant May--another whole month! Well, I would get in my sweet peas and risk my pansies and alyssum, anyhow. And I jumped off the porch and went back to the phlox to plan out my campaign. * * * * * By early May we were settled on the farm once more. My pansies and alyssum were up--at least I believed they were up, but I spent many minutes of each day kneeling by them and studying the physiognomy of their cotyledons. I led Jonathan out to them one Sunday morning, and he regarded them with indulgence if not with enthusiasm. As he stooped to throw out a bunch of pebbles in one of the new beds I stopped him. "Oh, don't! Those are my Mizpah stones." "Your what!" "Why, just some little stones to mark a place. Some of the nasturtiums are there. I didn't know whether they were going to do anything--they looked so like chips--and then, being sent free that way--but they are. "How do you know? They aren't up."