ng, and with all the
rows of different lengths, as if gardening were a sort of geometry or a
problem in arithmetic, figuring your vegetable with the meal for a
common divisor--how many times it will go into all your rows without
leaving a remainder!

Now I go by the seed catalogue, planting, not after the dish, as if my
only vision were a garden peeled and in the pot, but after the Bush.,
Peck, Qt., Pt., Lb., Oz., Pkg.,--so many pounds to the acre, instead of
so many seeds to the meal.

And I have tried to show her that gardening is something of a risk,
attended by chance, and no such exact science as dressmaking; that you
cannot sow seeds as you can sew buttons; that the seed-man has no
machine for putting sure-sprout-humps into each of his minute wares as
the hook-and-eye-man has; that with all wisdom and understanding one
could do no better than to buy (as I am careful to do) out of that
catalogue whose title reads "Honest Seeds"; and that even the Sower in
Holy Writ allowed somewhat for stony places and other inherent hazards
of planting time.

But she follows only afar off, affirming the primary meaning of that
parable to be plainly set forth in the context, while the secondary
meaning pointeth out the folly of sowing seed anywhere save on good
ground--which seemed to be only about one quarter of the area in the
parable that was planted; and that anyhow, seed catalogues, especially
those in colors, designed as they are to catch the simple-minded and
unwary, need to be looked into by the post-office authorities and if
possible kept from all city people, and from college professors in
particular.

She is entirely right about the college professors. Her understanding
is based upon years of observation and the patient cooking of uncounted
pots of beans.

I confess to a weakness for gardening and no sense at all of proportion
in vegetables. I can no more resist a seed catalogue than a toper can
his cup. There is no game, no form of exercise, to compare for a
moment in my mind with having a row of young growing things in a patch
of mellow soil; no possession so sure, so worth while, so interesting
as a piece of land. The smell of it, the feel of it, the call of it,
intoxicate me. The rows are never long enough, nor the hours, nor the
muscles strong enough either, when there is hoeing to do.

Why should she not take it as a solemn duty to save me from the hoe?
Man is an immoderate animal, especially in the sp