They both need it! I don't know how all this is going to
end and I wish my mind wasn't in a kind of tingle. However, I'll do the
best I can and not hold myself at all responsible for myself, and then
who will there be to blame?
There are a great many kinds of good-feeling in this world, from radiant
joy down to perfect bliss, but this spring I have got an attack of just
old-fashioned happiness that looks as if it might become chronic.
I am so happy that I planted my garden all crooked, my eyes upon the
clouds with the birds sailing against them, and when I became conscious
I found wicked flaunting poppies sprouted right up against the sweet
modest clover-pinks, while the whole paper of bachelor's-buttons was
sowed over everything--which I immediately began to dig right up again,
blushing furiously to myself over the trowel, and glad that I had caught
myself before they grew up to laugh in my face. However, I got that
laugh anyway, and I might just as well have left them, for Billy ran to
the gate and called Doctor John to come in and make Molly stop digging
up his buttons. Billy claims everything in this garden, and he thought
they would grow up into the kind of buttons you pop out of a gun.
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