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 children for carelessly stripping the
lilacs.
Fanny Foster is as wonderful in her way as Ella's garden, though not so
beautiful at first sight.
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