ready sale, but Norman gradually enlarged the borders to make
experiments of his own, till all the lot back of the house was a well
tilled garden.

If it had done nothing but keep her employed out of doors many hours of
the day it would have been well worth the effort, for it kept her from
brooding over her troubles, and largely took away the caged feeling
which had made her so desperate. As the fresh green shoots came up
through the soil and she counted the long straight rows, she counted
also the dimes each one ought to bring to the family purse, and drew a
breath of relief. They would amount to a neat little sum by the end of
the season, and by that time maybe some other way would be opened up for
her to earn money at home. True, not all the things they planted came
up. Fully a third of the garden "failed to answer to roll call," Norman
said, but those that did respond to their diligent care amply made up
for the failure of the others.

Jack's room in the wing of the cottage had a south door over-looking the
garden, and it was a happy day for the entire household when he asked to
know what was going on out there. He could not see the garden from the
corner where his bed stood, but the nurse propped a large mirror up
against a chair in a way to reflect the entire scene. Norman was
vigorously hoeing weeds, and Mary, armed with a large magnifying glass,
was on a hunt for the worms that were threatening the young plants.

The scene seemed to amuse Jack immensely, and entirely aroused out of
his apathy, he began to ask questions, and to suggest various dishes
that he would like to sample as soon as the garden could furnish them.
Every morning after that he called for the mirror to see how much the
garden had grown in the night. It was an event when the first tiny
radish was brought in for him to taste, and a matter of family
rejoicing, when the first crisp head of lettuce was made into a salad
for him, because his enjoyment of it was so evident.

About that time he was able to be propped up in bed a little while each
day, and was so much like his old cheerful self that Mary wrote long
hopeful letters to Joyce and Betty about his improvement. He joked with
the nurse and talked so confidently about going back to work, that Mary
began to feel that her worst fears had been unfounded, and that much of
her mental anguish on his account had been unnecessary. Sometimes she
shared his hopefulness to such an extent that she half