at that
man ain' a sure-enough prince."

CHAPTER II

SPRING IN GREEN VALLEY

Traveling men have a poor opinion of it. Ministers of the gospel have
been known to despair of it. Socially ambitious matrons move out of it,
or, if that is not possible, despise it. Real estate men can not get
rich in it. And humorless folk sometimes have a hard, sad time of it in
Green Valley.

But Uncle Tony, the slowest man in town but the very first at every fire
and accident, says that once, when the Limited was stalled at the Old
Roads Corner, a crowd of swells gathered on the observation platform and
sized up the town.

One official, who--Uncle Tony says--couldn't have been anything less than
a Chicago alderman, said right out loud:

"Great Stars! What peace--and cabbages!"

And another said solemnly, said he, "This is the place to come to when
you have lost your last friend." And there was no malice, only a hungry
longing in his voice.

The stylish, white-haired woman who, Uncle Tony guessed, must have been
the alderman's wife, said, "Oh--John! What healing, lovely gardens!"

There's always a silly little wind fooling around the Old Roads Corners
and so you get all the sweet smells from Grandma Wentworth's herb garden
and all the heavenly fragrance that the flower gardens of this end of
town send out.

Standing there you can look into any number of pretty yards but
especially Ella Higgins'. Of course Ella's yard and garden is a wonder.
It's been handed down from one old maid relative to another till in
Ella's time it does seem as if every wild and home flower that ever
bloomed was fairly rooted and represented there. It's in Ella's garden
that the first wild violets bloom; where the first spring beauty nods
under the bushes of bridal wreath; where the last chrysanthemum glows.

Everybody in town got their lilies-of-the-valley roots and their yellow
roses from Ella. Her peonies and roses, pansies and forget-me-nots are
known clear over in Bloomingdale and bespoken by flower lovers in Spring
Road. And as for her tulips, well--there are little flocks of them
everywhere about, looking for all the world like crowds of gayly dressed
babies toddling off to play.

The only time that poor Fanny Foster came near making trouble was when
she said that of course Ella's place was all right but that it had no
style or system, and that you couldn't have a proper garden without a
gardener. Ella had scolded Fanny's chil