DOROTHY TELLS HER SECRET
"How queer it is that when you're interested in something you keep
seeing and hearing things connected with it!" exclaimed Ethel Blue about
a week after her birthday, when Della Watkins came out from town to
bring her her belated birthday gift.
The present proved to be a slender hillock covered with a silky green
growth exquisite in texture and color.
"What is it? What is it?" cried Ethel Blue. "We mentioned plants and
gardens on my birthday and that very evening Margaret brought me this
grapefruit jungle and now you've brought me this. Do tell me exactly
what it is."
"A cone, child. That's all. A Norway spruce cone. When it is dry its
scales are open. I filled them with grass seed and put the cone in a
small tumbler so that the lower end might be damp all the time. The
dampness makes the scales close and starts the seed to sprouting. This
has been growing a few days and the cone is almost hidden."
"It's one of the prettiest plants--would you call it a plant or a
greenhouse?--I ever saw. Does it have to be a Norway spruce cone?"
"O, no. Only they have very regular scales that hold the seed well. I
brought you out two more of them and some grass seed and canary seed so
you could try it for yourself."
"You're a perfect duck," and Ethel gave her friend a hug. "Now let me
show you what one of the girls at school gave Ethel Brown."
She indicated a strange-looking brown object hanging before the window.
"What in the world is it? It looks--yes, it looks like a sweet potato."
"That's what it is--a sweet potato with one end cut off and a cage of
tape to hold it. You see it's sprouting already, and they say that the
vines hang down from it and it looks like a little green hanging
basket."
"What's the object of cutting off the end?"
"Anna--that's Ethel Brown's friend--said that she scooped hers out just
a little bit and put a few drops of water inside so that the sun
shouldn't dry it too much."
"I should think it would grow better in a dark place. Don't you know how
Irish potatoes send out those white shoots when they're in the cellar?"
"She said she started hers in the cellar and then brought them into the
light."
"Just like bulbs."
"Exactly. Aunt Louise is having great luck with her bulbs now. She had
them in the cellar and now she is bringing them out a pot at a time, so
she has something new coming forward every few days."
"Dorothy doesn't care much for bulbs, but I think it's pretty good fun.
You can make them blossom just about when you please by keeping them in
the dark or bringing them into the light. I'm going to ask Aunt Louise
to give me some of hers when they're finished flowering. She says you
can plant them out of doors and next year they'll bloom in the garden."
"Mother has some this winter, too. I'll ask her for them after she's
through forcing them."
"I like them in the garden, too--tulips and hyacinths and daffodils and
narcissus and, jonquils. They come so early and give you a feeling that
spring really has arrived."
"You look as if spring had really arrived in the house here. If there
wasn't a little bit of that snow man left in front I shouldn't know it
had snowed last week. How in the world did you get all these shrubs to
blossom now? They don't seem to realize that it's only January."
"That's another thing that's happened since my birthday. Margaret told
us about bringing branches of the spring shrubs into the house and
making them come out in water, so we've been trying it. She sent over
those yellow bells, the Forsythia, and Roger brought in the pussy
willows from the brook on the way to Mr. Emerson's."
"This thorny red affair is the Japan quince, but I don't recognize these
others."
"That's because you're a city girl! You'll laugh when I tell you what
they are."
"They don't look like flowering shrubs to me."
"They aren't. They're flowering trees; fruit trees!"
"O-o! That really is a peach blossom, then!"
"The deep pink is peach, and the delicate pink is apple and the white is
plum."
"They're perfectly dear. Tell me how you coaxed them out. Surely you
didn't just keep them in water in this room?"
"We put them in the sunniest window we had, not too near the glass,
because it wouldn't do for them to run any chance of getting chilled.
They stayed there as long as the sun did, and then we moved them to
another warm spot and we were very careful about them at night."
"How often do you change the water?"
"Every two or three days; and once in a while we spray them to keep the
upper part fresh--and there you are. It's _fun_ to watch them come out.
Don't want to take some switches back to town with you?"
Della did.
"They make me think of a scheme that my Aunt Rose is putting into
operation. She went round the world year before last," she said, "and
she saw in Japan lots of plants growing in earthenware vases hanging
against the wall or in a long bamboo cut so that small water bottles
might be slipped in. She has some of the very prettiest wall decorations
now--a queer looking greeny-brown pottery vase has two or three sprigs
of English ivy. Another with orange tints has nasturtiums and another
tradescantia."
"Are they growing in water?"
"The ivy and the tradescantia are, but the nasturtiums and a perfectly
darling morning glory have earth. She's growing bulbs in them, too,
only she doesn't use plain water or earth, just bulb fibre."
"What's that?"
"Why, bulbs are such fat creatures that they don't need the outside food
they would get from earth; all they want is plenty of water. This fibre
stuff holds enough water to keep them damp all the time, and it isn't
messy in the house like dirt."
"What are you girls talking about?" asked Dorothy, who came in with
Ethel Brown at this moment.
Both of them were interested in the addition that Della had made to
their knowledge of flowers and gardening.
"Every day I feel myself drawn into more and more gardening," exclaimed
Dorothy. "I've set up a notebook already."
"In January!" laughed Della.
"January seems to be the time to do your thinking and planning; that's
what the people who know tell me."
"It seems to be the time for some action," retorted Della, waving her
hand at the blossoming branches about the room.
"Aren't they wonderful? I always knew you could bring them out quickly
in the house after the buds were started out of doors, but these fellows
didn't seem to be started at all--and look at them!"
"Mother says they've done so well because we've been careful to keep
them evenly warm," said Ethel Brown. "Dorothy's got the finest piece of
news to tell you. If she doesn't tell you pretty soon I shall come out
with it myself!"
"O, let her tell her own secret!" remonstrated Blue. "What is it?"
You know that sloping piece of ground about a quarter of a mile beyond
the Clarks' on the road to Mr. Emerson's?"
"You don't mean the field with the brook where Roger got the pussy
willows?"
"This side of it. There's a lovely view across the meadows on the other
side of the road, and the land runs back to some rocks and big trees."
"Certainly I know it," assented Ethel Blue. "There's a hillock on it
that's the place I've chosen for a house when I grow up and build one."
"Well, you can't have it because I've got there first!"
"What do you mean? Has Aunt Louise--?"
"She has."
"How grand! How _grand_! You'll be farther away from us than you are now
but it's a dear duck of a spot--"
"And it's right on the way to Grandfather Emerson's," added Ethel Brown.
"Mother signed the papers this morning and she's going to begin to build
as soon as the weather will allow."
"With peach trees in blossom now that ought not to be far off," laughed
Della, waving her hand again at the blossoms that pleased her so much.
"How large a house is she going to build?" asked Ethel Blue.
"Not very big. Large enough for her and me and a guest or two and of
course Elisabeth and Miss Merriam," referring to a Belgian baby who had
been brought to the United Service Club from war-stricken Belgium, and
to her caretaker, a charming young woman from the School of Mothercraft.
"Will it be made of concrete?"
"Yes, and Mother says we may all help a lot in making the plans and in
deciding on the decoration and everything."
"Isn't she the darling! It will be the next best thing to building a
house yourself!"
"There will be a garage behind the house."
"A garage! Is Aunt Louise going to set up a car?"
"Just a small one that she can drive herself. Back of the garage there's
plenty of space for a garden and she says she'll turn that over to me. I
can do anything I want with it as long as I'll be sure to have enough
vegetables for the table and lots of flowers for the house."
"O, my; O, my; what fun we'll have," ejaculated Della, who knew that
Dorothy could have no pleasure that she would not share equally with the
rest of the Club.
"I came over now to see if you people didn't want to walk over there and
see it."
"This minute?"
"This minute."
"Of course we do--if Della doesn't have to take the train back yet?"
"Not for a long time. I'd take a later one anyway; I couldn't wait until
the Saturday Club meeting to see it."
"How did you know I'd suggest a walk there for the Saturday Club
meeting?"
"Could you help it?" retorted Della, laughing.
They timed themselves so that they might know just how far away from
them Dorothy was going to be and they found that it was just about half
way to Grandfather Emerson's. As somebody from the Mortons' went there
every day, and as the distance was, in reality, not long, they were
reassured as to the Smiths being quite out in the country as the change
had seemed to them at first.
"You won't be able to live in the house this summer, will you?" asked
Ethel Blue.
"Not until late in the summer or perhaps even later than that. Mother
says she isn't in a hurry because she wants the work to be done well."
"Then you won't plant the garden this year?"
"Indeed I shall. I'm going to plant the new garden and the garden where
we are now."
"Roger will strike on doing all the digging."
"He'll have to have a helper on the new garden, but I'll plant his
sweetpeas for him just the same. At the new place I'm going to have a
large garden."
"Up here on the hill?"
The girls were climbing up the ascent that rose sharply from the road.
"The house will perch on top of this little hill. Back of it, you see,
on top of the ridge, it's quite flat and the garden will be there. I was
talking about it with Mr. Emerson this morning--"
"Oho, you've called Grandfather into consultation already!"
"He's going to be our nearest neighbor on that side. He said that a
ridge like this was one of the best places for planting because it has
several exposures to the sun and you can find a spot to suit the fancy
of about every plant there is."
"Your garden will be cut off from the house by the garage. Shall you
have another nearer the road?"
"Next summer there will have to be planting of trees and shrubs and
vines around the house but this year I shall attend to the one up here
in the field."
"Brrrr! It looks bleak enough now," shivered Ethel Blue.
"Let's go up in those woods and see what's there."
"Has Aunt Louise bought them?"
"No, but she wants to. They don't belong to the same man who owned this
piece of land. They belong to the Clarks. She's going to see about it
right off, because it looks so attractive and rocky and woodsy."
"You'd have the brook, too."
"I hope she'll be able to get it. Of course just this piece is awfully
pretty, and this is the only place for a house, but the meadow with the
brook and the rocks and the woods at the back would be too lovely for
words. Why, you'd feel as if you had an estate."
The girls laughed at Dorothy's enthusiasm over the small number of acres
that were included even in the combined lots of land, but they agreed
with her that the additional land offered a variety that was worth
working hard to obtain.
They made their way up the slope and among the jumble of rocks that
looked as if giants had been tossing them about in sport. Small trees
grew from between them as they lay heaped in disorder and taller growths
stretched skyward from an occasional open space. The brook began in a
spring that bubbled clear and cold, from under a slab of rock. Round
about it all was covered with moss, still green, though frozen stiff by
the snowstorm's chilly blasts. Shrivelled ferns bending over its mouth
promised summer beauties.
"What a lovely spot!" cried Ethel Blue. "This is where fairies and wood
nymphs live when that drift melts. Don't you know this must be a great
gathering place for birds? Can't you see them now dipping their beaks
into the water and cocking their heads up at the sky afterwards!" and
she quoted:--
"Dip, birds, dip
Where the ferns lean over,
And their crinkled edges drip,
Haunt and hover."
"Here's the best place yet!" called Dorothy, who had pushed on and was
now out of sight.
"Where are you?"
"Here. See if you can find me," came a muffled answer.
"Where do you suppose she went to?" asked Ethel Brown, as they all three
straightened themselves, yet saw no sign of Dorothy.
"I hope she hasn't fallen down a precipice and been killed!" said Ethel
Blue, whose imagination sometimes ran away with her.
"More likely she has twisted her ankle," practical Ethel Brown.
"She wouldn't sound as gay as that if anything had happened to her,"
Della reminded them.
The cries that kept reaching them were unquestionably cheerful but where
they came from was a problem that they did not seem able to solve. It
was only when Dorothy poked out her head from behind a rock almost in
front of them that they saw the entrance of what looked like a real
cave.
"It's the best imitation of a cave I ever did see!" the explorer
exclaimed. "These rocks have tumbled into just the right position to
make the very best house! Come in."
Her guests were eager to accept her invitation. There was space enough
for all of them and two or three more might easily be accommodated
within, while a bit of smooth grass outside the entrance almost added
another room, "if you aren't particular about a roof," as Ethel Brown
said.
"Do you suppose Roger has never found this!" wondered Dorothy. "See,
there's room enough for a fireplace with a chimney. You could cook here.
You could sleep here. You could _live_ here!"
The others laughed at her enthusiasm, but they themselves were just as
enthusiastic. The possibilities of spending whole days here in the shade
and cool of the trees and rocks and of imagining that they were in the
highlands of Scotland left them almost gasping.
"Don't you remember when Fitz-James first sees Ellen in the 'Lady of
the Lake'?" asked Ethel Blue.
"He was separated from his men and found himself in a rocky glen
overlooking a lake. The rocks were bigger than these but we can pretend
they were just the same," and she recited a few lines from a poem whose
story they all knew and loved.
"But not a setting beam could glow
Within the dark ravines below,
Where twined the path in shadow hid,
Round many a rocky pyramid."
"I remember; he looked at the view a long time and then he blew his horn
again to see if he could make any of his men hear him, and Ellen came
gliding around a point of land in a skiff. She thought it was her father
calling her."
"And the stranger went home to their lodge and fell in love with her--O,
it's awfully romantic. I must read it again," and Dorothy gazed at the
rocks around her as if she were really in Scotland.
"Has anybody a knife?" asked Della's clear voice, bringing them all
sharply back to America and Rosemont. "My aunt--the one who has the
hanging flowerpots I was telling you about--isn't a bit well and I
thought I'd make her a little fernery that she could look at as she lies
in bed."
"But the ferns are all dried up."
"'Greenery' is a better name. Here's a scrap of partridge berry with a
red berry still clinging to it, and here's a bit of moss as green as it
was in summer, and here--yes, it's alive, it really is!" and she held up
in triumph a tiny fern that had been so sheltered under the edge of a
boulder that it had kept fresh and happy.
There was nothing more to reward their search, for they all hunted with
Della, but she was not discouraged.
"I only want a handful of growing things," she explained. "I put these
in a finger bowl, and sprinkle a few seeds of grass or canary seed on
the moss and dash some water on it from the tips of my fingers. Another
finger bowl upside down makes the cover. The sick person can see what is
going on inside right through the glass without having to raise her
head."
"How often do you water it?"
"Only once or twice a week, because the moisture collects on the upper
glass of the little greenhouse and falls down again on the plants and
keeps them, wet."
"We'll keep our eyes open every time we come here," promised Dorothy.
"There's no reason why you couldn't add a little root of this or that
any time you want to."
[Illustration: Partridge Berry]
"I know Aunty will be delighted with it," cried Della, much pleased.
"She likes all plants, but especially things that are a little bit
different. That's why she spends so much time selecting her wall
vases--so that they shall be unlike other people's."
"Fitz-James's woods," as they already called the bit of forest that
Dorothy hoped to have possession of, extended back from the road and
spread until it joined Grandfather Emerson's woods on one side and what
was called by the Rosemonters "the West Woods" on the other. The girls
walked home by a path that took them into Rosemont not far from the
station where Della was to take the train.
"Until you notice what there really is in the woods in winter you think
there isn't anything worth looking at," said Ethel Blue, walking along
with her eyes in the tree crowns.
"The shapes of the different trees are as distinct now as they are in
summer," declared Ethel Brown. "You'd know that one was an oak, and the
one next to it a beech, wouldn't you?"
"I don't know whether I would or not," confessed Dorothy honestly, "but
I can almost always tell a tree by its bark."
"I can tell a chestnut by its bark nowadays," asserted Ethel Blue,
"because it hasn't any!"
"What on earth do you mean?" inquired city-bred Della.
"Something or other has killed all the chestnuts in this part of the
world in the last two or three years. Don't you see all these dead trees
standing with bare trunks?"
"Poor old things! Is it going to last?"
"It spread up the Hudson and east and west in New York and
Massachusetts, and south into Pennsylvania."
"Roger was telling Grandfather a few days ago that a farmer was telling
him that he thought the trouble--the pest or the blight or whatever it
was--had been stopped."
"I remember now seeing a lot of dead trees somewhere when one of
Father's parishioners took us motoring in the autumn. I didn't know the
chestnut crop was threatened."
"Chestnuts weren't any more expensive this year. They must have imported
them from far-off states."
There were still pools of water in the wood path, left by the melting
snow, and the grass that they touched seemed a trifle greener than that
beside the narrow road. Once in a while a bit of vivid green betrayed a
plant that had found shelter under an overhanging stone. The leaves were
for the most part dry enough again to rustle under their feet.
Evergreens stood out sharply dark against the leafless trees.
"What are the trees that still have a few leaves left clinging to them?"
asked Della.
"Oaks. Do you know why the leaves stay on?"
"Is it a story?"
"Yes, a pleasant story. Once the Great Evil Spirit threatened to destroy
the whole world. The trees heard the threat and the oak tree begged him
not to do anything so wicked. He insisted but at last he agreed not to
do it until the last leaf had fallen in the autumn. All the trees meant
to hold On to their leaves so as to ward off the awful disaster, but one
after the other they let them go--all except the oak. The oak never yet
has let fall every one of its leaves and so the Evil Spirit never has
had a chance to put his threat into execution."
"That's a lesson in success, isn't it? Stick to whatever it is you want
to do and you're sure to succeed."
"Watch me make my garden succeed," cried Dorothy. "If 'sticking' will
make it a success I'm a stick!"