"
"Oh! how good it sounds!" said
Margery. "I vote for the salad garden."
That very evening, Margery's father took
pencil and paper, and drew out a plan for
her garden; first, they talked it all over,
then he drew what they decided on; it
looked like the diagram on the next page.
"The outside strip is for flowers," said
Margery's father, "and the next marks
mean a footpath, all the way round the
beds; that is so you can get at the flowers
to weed and to pick; there is a wider path
through the middle, and the rest is all for
rows of salad vegetables."
"Papa, it is glorious!" said Margery.
Papa laughed. "I hope you will still
think it glorious when the weeding time
comes," he said, "for you know, you and
mother have promised to take care of this
garden, while I take care of the big one."
"I wouldn't NOT take care of it for
anything!" said Margery. "I want to feel that
it is my very own."
Her father kissed her, and said it was
certainly her "very own."
Two evenings after that, when Margery
was called in from her first ramble in a
"really, truly pasture," she found the
expressman at the door of the little house.
"Something for you, Margery," said
her mother, with the look she had when
something nice was happening.
It was a box, quite a big box, with a
label on it that said:--
MISS MARGERY BROWN,
WOODVILLE, MASS.
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