“The flower garden also cries for proper raiment, for though the original lines have been preserved and the soil put in a satisfactory shape, in lieu of the hardy plants and old-time favourites that belong to such a place, in emergency we were reduced, last summer, to the quick-growing but monotonous bedding plants for fillers.  Can you imagine anything more jarring and inconsistent than cannas, castor-oil beans, coleus, and nasturtiums in a prim setting of box?

“Then, too, last Christmas, Bart’s parents sent us a dear old sundial, with a very good fluted column for a base.  The motto reads ’Never consult me at night,’ which Bart insists is an admonition for us to keep, chickenlike, early hours!  Be this as it may, in order to live up to the dial, the beds that form its court must be consistently clothed—­for cannas, coleus, and beans, read peonies, Madonna lilies, sweet-william, clove-pinks, and hollyhocks, which latter the seed bed I hope will duly furnish.

“All these details, and more too, I poured into the ears of The Man from Everywhere, while Bart kept rather silent, but I could tell by the way his pipe breathed, short and quick, that he was thinking hard.  One has to be a little careful in talking over plans and wishes with Bart; his spirit is generous beyond his pocket-power and he is a bit sensitive.  He wants to do so much for the Infant, the home, and me, that when desire outruns the purse, he seems to feel that the limit lies somewhere within the range of his own incapacity, and that bare, camel-backed knoll outlining the horizon, as seen from the dining-room window, showing the roof of the abandoned barn and hen yards, and the difficulty of wrestling with it, is an especially tender spot.

“’If it was anything possible, I’d hump my back and do it, but it isn’t!’ he jerked, knocking his pipe against the chimney-side before it was half empty and then refilling it; ’it’s either a vacation or the knoll—­which shall it be?

“’I don’t hanker after leaving home, but that’s what a complete change means, I suppose, though I confess I should enjoy a rest for a time from travelling to and fro, like a weaver’s shuttle!  Mary hates to leave home too; she’s a regular sit-by-the-fire!  Come, which shall it be?  This indecision makes the cure worse than the disease!’ and Bart fingered a penny prior to giving it the decisive flip—­’head, a vacation; tail, an attack on the knoll!’ The penny spun, and then taking a queer backward leap fell into the ashes, where it lay buried.

“‘That reads like neither!’ said Bart, sitting up with a start.

“‘No, both!’ replied The Man from Everywhere, opening his eyes and gazing first at Bart and then at me with a quizzical expression.

“Instantly curiosity was piqued, for compared to this most domestic of travelled bachelors, the Lady from Philadelphia was without either foresight or resources.