"Sweetpeas, my child. Never in all my life have I had enough sweetpeas."
"I've had more than enough," groaned Ethel Brown. "One summer I stayed a
fortnight with Grandmother Emerson and I picked the sweetpeas for her
every morning. She was very particular about having them picked because
they blossom better if they're picked down every day."
"It must have taken you an awfully long time; she always has rows and
rows of them," said Helen.
"I worked a whole hour in the sun every single day! If we have acres of
sweetpeas we'll all have to help Roger pick."
"I'm willing to," said Ethel Blue. "I'm like Roger, I think they're
darling; just like butterflies or something with wings."
"We'll have to cast our professional eyes into the garden and decide on
the best place for the sweetpeas," said Roger. "They have to be planted
early, you know. If we plant them just anywhere they'll be sure to be in
the way of something that grows shorter so it will be hidden."
"Or grows taller and is a color that fights with them."
"It would be hard to find a color that wasn't matched by one sweetpea or
another. They seem to be of every combination under the sun."
"It's queer, some of the combinations would be perfectly hideous in a
dress but they look all right in Nature's dress."
"We'll send for some seedsmen's catalogues and order a lot.
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