Such a clamor of voices reached grandma’s ears that her first thought
was that the children must have the garden, at the very least, half
filled with their schoolmates. But when the old lady rose from her big
armchair to take a sharp look around from the window, she was amazed
to learn that all the confusion was made by her two happy, healthy
grandchildren Margaret and Marshall, and they were as busy as could be,
planting and fussing over nasturtium plants.
“See us, grandma,” were the pleasant if imperative words when they
saw their grandmother with her head stretched out as far as possible,
looking first one way and then another.
“See you? Well, I should say I did, and what are you doing with that
old umbrella frame, Marshall?” was the questioning response.
“Getting ready for our nasturtiums,” and the boy tossed his head
laughingly towards a large quantity of the golden brown blossoms,
digging energetically all the while, though, as if moments were more
precious than he could tell.
As grandma was anxious to learn all about the planting, first Marshall
and then Margaret told her just what they were about to do. The
gardener at the Jenkins place explained what he did. “And I never saw
nasturtiums look as pretty before,” said Margaret, with a sedate shake
of her head. “Besides, it is an altogether new idea, not the old sort
of a thing that everybody knows. It commences by planting an umbrella
frame, putting the handle deep enough down not to break off with the
first strong wind, or with the weight of vines, either, in case they
should grow a trifle heavier on one side than the other, though, of
course, this we will try to prevent. The umbrella should not be put
in a corner, but in an open bed, where people can walk all around it.
This frame of ours has eight sticks, and at each one we will plant a
root. And we are going to plant two at the handle, one on either side,
and not close enough to crowd each other. As the vines grow, they will
be trained up the handle and along the sticks, making the effect of a
diminutive tent, and while this old frame is rather an ungainly sight
at present, in a few weeks the bed will be simply gorgeous.
“Oh, they are so pretty!” Margaret continued, lightly and fondly
touching the bright flowers, “such a variety of shades, yellow,
orange, even to a deep brown, and the vine is willing to wind any way
we will; it is naturally graceful, with just enough foliage and not too
much. Why, the old frame will be the prettiest thing in all the country
around.”
“I only hope our neighbors will not watch and try the same thing for
themselves,” was Marshall’s interjection.
“They probably will not before next summer,” was grandma’s assuring
comment, “and then your nasturtium umbrella would be one year old.”