And then if we could get an old “preserved-ginger” pot, and some
bay-salt, we could make pot-pourri. 
Jack and I have a garden, though it’s not so large as the big one,
you know;
But whatever can be got to grow in a garden we mean to grow. 
We’ve got Bachelor’s Buttons, and London Pride, and Old Man, and
everything that’s nice: 
And last year Jack sowed green peas for our dolls’ dinners, but they
were eaten up by the mice. 
And he would plant potatoes in furrows, which made the garden in a
mess,
So this year we mean to have no kitchen-garden but mustard and cress. 
One of us plants, and the other waters, but Jack likes the
watering-pot;
And then when my turn comes to water he says it’s too hot! 
We sometimes quarrel about the garden, and once Jack hit me with
the spade;
So we settled to divide it in two by a path up the middle, and
that’s made. 
We want some yellow sand now to make the walk pretty, but there’s none
about here,
So we mean to get some in the old carpet-bag, if we go to the seaside
this year. 
On Monday we went to the wood and got primrose plants and a sucker of
a dog-rose;
It looks like a green stick in the middle of the bed at present; but
wait till it blows! 
The primroses were in full flower, and the rose ought to flower soon;
You’ve no idea how lovely they are in that wood in June! 
The primroses look quite withered now, I am sorry to say,
But that is not our fault but Nurse’s, and it shows how hard it is to
garden when you can’t have your own way. 
We planted them carefully, and were just going to water them all in
a lump,
When Nurse fetched us both indoors, and put us to bed for wetting our
pinafores at the pump. 
It’s very hard, and I’m sure the gardener’s plants wouldn’t grow any
better than ours,
If Nurse fetched him in and sent him to bed just when he was going to
water his flowers. 
We’ve got Blue Nemophila and Mignonette, and Venus’s Looking-glass,
and many other seeds;
The Nemophila comes up spotted, which is how we know it from the weeds. 
At least it’s sure to come up if the hens haven’t scratched it up
first. 
But when it is up the cats roll on it, and that is the worst! 
I sowed a ring of sweet peas, and the last time I looked they were
coming nicely on,
Just sprouting white, and I put them safely back; but when Jack looked
he found they were gone. 
Jack made a great many cuttings, but he has had rather bad luck,
I’ve looked at them every day myself, and not one of them has struck. 
The gardener gave me a fine moss-rose, but Jack took it to his side,
I kept moving it back, but he took it again, and at last it died. 
But now we’ve settled to dig up the path, and have the bed as it was
before,
So everything will belong to us both, and we shan’t ever quarrel
any more. 
It is such a long time, too, to wait for the sand,