Mary Jane ran up to her room to put her precious letter away for safe-keeping.  Then she and Grandmother tidied up the dinner work and dressed for afternoon.  Grandmother didn’t have lots of hard work to do, as some farm folks have, for she and Grandfather had long ago stopped doing the hardest work on the farm.  They rented out most of their land and kept for themselves only enough garden and chicken yard and pasture to make them feel comfortably busy.  So Grandmother had plenty of time for pleasant walks and rides with Mary Jane.

Grandfather seemed to be tired at supper that evening so nothing was said about secrets or letters or anything like that, and he went off to bed about as soon as Mary Jane did.

But the next morning he seemed rested and jolly as ever.

“Do you happen to know any little girl around here who wants to work with me today?” he asked at the breakfast table.

“That’s what Daddah says when he wants me to work in my garden,” said Mary Jane.

“You don’t tell me!” exclaimed Grandfather in great surprise.  That was one of his favorite expressions, and Mary Jane had to always stop and think before she could realize that what he meant was, “You do tell me!” “And what do you say to him when he asks you that?”

“I say, ‘I know one little girl and that’s me,’” replied Mary Jane.

“And what do you say to me?” continued Grandfather.

“I say, ‘I know one little girl, and she’s right here,’” laughed Mary Jane and she jumped down from the table and gave her grandfather a big bear hug.  “What is it we’re going to do?”

“Wait and see,” said Grandfather.

“Then it’s the secret!” exclaimed Mary Jane, dancing around.  “It’s the secret!  I know it is!  Grandmother!  Let’s hurry quick and do our work so we can go.”

“You put on your sun hat and go this very minute,” exclaimed Grandmother.  “You’ve been such a good little helper—­I guess I can get along alone one day.”

So in about one minute Mary Jane had her sun hat from upstairs and was going out the back door with her grandfather.

They went out past the tool house and past the chicken yard and up to the garden.

“No, Bob,” said Grandfather as Bob tried to push in through the garden gate with them, “we don’t need you here.  G’on back to the house!” And Bob turned obediently and ran back.

“Isn’t he the nicest dog!” explained Mary Jane, as they went along.  And then she stopped right short and couldn’t say another word.  For right there in front of her, just as plain as day as though it had been growing a whole spring, was her own garden!  Yes, her very own garden!  With the nasturtiums in front and the marigolds next and the young lettuce in the back.  Mary Jane could hardly believe her eyes!

“Why—­but—­how—­I thought gardens stayed in one town!” she finally exclaimed.

“They do usually,” said Grandfather and his eyes twinkled with pleasure over her surprise, “usually they do.”