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own, too. I woulcln’t have mentioned it
par-ticularly if there weren’t one remarkable faet
about it. Really and truly, nothing will grow
in it but that dark blue toad-flax—you know
what that is. Every single spring I buy seeds
with iny pocket money, and plant and water
and take care of them, but when summer comes
there is nothing in the garden but great hig
toad-flax stalks all gone to seed. It is awfully
tiresome, especially when they have such a
horrid name.
Playmates
Now I think it is time to describe all of us
bovs and giris who play together, and whom I
am going to tell about in my book.
There is Peter,„ the dean’s son, with his
sleepy brown eyes and freckles as big as
barley-corns. Peter is a cowardly chap. Ile never
has any opinion of his own. And if he had one
he would never dåre to stand by it if you
con-tradicted him. ITe’s terribly afraid of the cold,
too, and goes about with a scarf wound around
his neck, and mittens if a single snowflake falis.
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