her own diet.  She seldom wrote for Mrs. Easterfield, for that lady did not like her handwriting, and she did not understand the use of the typewriter; nor did she read to the lady of the house, for Mrs. Easterfield could not endure to have anybody read to her.  But in all the other duties of a secretary she made herself very useful.  She saw that the books, which every morning were found lying about the house, were put in their proper places on the shelves, and, if necessary, she dusted them; if she saw a book turned upside down she immediately set it up properly.  She was also expected to exert a certain supervision over the books the little girls were allowed to look at.  She was an excellent listener and an appropriate smiler; Mrs. Easterfield frequently said that she never knew Miss Raleigh to smile in the wrong place.  She took a regular walk every day, eight times up and down the whole length of the lawn.

Mrs. Easterfield gave herself almost entirely to the entertainment of her guest.  They roamed over the grounds, they found the finest points of view, at which Olive was expert, being a fine climber, and they tramped for long distances along the edge of the woods, where together they killed a snake.  Mrs. Easterfield also allowed Olive the great privilege of helping her work in her garden of nature.  This was a wide bed which was almost entirely shaded by two large trees.  The peculiarity about this bed was that its mistress carefully pulled up all the flowering plants and cultivated the weeds.

“You see,” said she to Olive, “I planted here a lot of flower-seeds which I thought would thrive in the shade, but they did not, and after a while I found that they were all spindling and puny-looking, while the weeds were growing as if they were out in the open sunshine, so I have determined to acknowledge the principle of the survival of the fittest, and whenever anything that looks like a flower shows itself I jerk it out.  I also thin out all but the best weeds.  I hoe and rake the others, and water them if necessary.  Look at that splendid Jamestown weed—­here they call it jimson weed—­did you ever see anything finer than that with its great white blossoms and dark-green leaves?  I expect it to be twice as large before the summer is over.  And all these others.  See how graceful they are, and what delicate flowers some of them have!”

“I wonder,” said Olive, “if I should have had the strength of mind to pull up my flowers and leave my weeds.”

“The more you think about it,” said Mrs. Easterfield, “the more you like weeds.  They have such fine physiques, and they don’t ask anybody to do anything for them.  They are independent, like self-made men, and come up of themselves.  They laugh at disadvantages, and even bricks and flagstones will not keep them down.”

“But, after all,” said Olive, “give me the flowers that can not take care of themselves.”  And she turned toward a bed of carnations, bright under the morning sun.