"You talk like the real thing, Elizabeth. What do you mean by pricking
out?"

"Why, pricking is just lifting out the seedlings with a pointed stick
from one row to another, or from a box or hotbed into the outside
garden. What else are you going to plant, Jack?"

"I thought I'd put in--say two rows of tomatoes, one row of onions, and
one of peppers. In the third partition I'd start asters. I just love
asters. So I've made up my mind to make a kind of specialty of these."

"That's fine! May I help?"

"You certainly may, for you are a help."

Elizabeth chuckled away to herself, for Jack evidently was not
questioning where she got her knowledge. "It seems to me," she rather
timidly suggested, "that it would look more shipshape to label these
rows, and put in little sticks where each row begins and ends."

"Well now, that is a fine suggestion." So Jack stuck in some little
sticks he got from the woodshed. Elizabeth did not dare offer some
nicely made little markers laid away in her desk for future use. She
feared those would call forth questions.

Jack brought out a hammer and tacks. Then writing the names of the seeds
on the little envelopes Elizabeth had brought out, he tacked one over
each row onto the inside of the frame. They both stood off and admired
the work.