"Won't transplanting them twice set them back?"

"If you take up enough earth around them they ought not to know that they've taken a journey."

"I've done a lot of transplanting of wild plants from the woods," said Stanley, "and I found that if I was careful to do that they didn't even wilt."

"Why can't we start some of the flower seeds here and have early blossoms?"

"You can. I don't see why we can't keep it going all the time and have a constant supply of flowers and vegetables earlier than we should if we trusted to Mother Nature to do the work unaided."

"Then in the autumn we can stow away here some of the plants we want to save, geraniums and begonias, and plants that are pretty indoors, and take them into the house when the indoor ones become shabby."

"Evidently right in the heart of summer is the only time this article won't be in use," decided Stanley, laughing at their eagerness. "Have you got anything to cover it with when the spring sunshine grows too hot?"

"There is an old hemp rug and some straw matting in the attic--won't they do?"

"Perfectly. Lay them over the gla.s.s so that the delicate little plants won't get burned. You can raise the sashes, too."

"If we don't forget to close them before the sun sets and the night chill comes on, I suppose," smiled Ethel Blue. "Mr. Emerson says that seeds under gla.s.s do better if they're covered with newspaper until they start."

It was about the middle of March when Mrs. Smith went in to call on her neighbors, the Miss Clarks, one evening. They were at home and after a talk on the ever-absorbing theme of the war Mrs. Smith said,

"I really came in here on business. I hope you've decided to sell me the meadow lot next to my knoll. If you've made up your minds hadn't I better tell my lawyer to make out the papers at once?"

"Sister and I made up our minds some time ago, dear Mrs. Smith, and we wrote to Brother William about it before he came to stay with us, and he was willing, and Stanley, here, who is the only other heir of the estate that we know about, has no objection."

"That gives me the greatest pleasure. I'll tell my lawyer, then, to have the t.i.tle looked up right away and make out the deed--though I feel as if I should apologize for looking up the t.i.tle of land that has been in your family as long as Mr. Emerson's has been in his."

"You needn't feel at all apologetic," broke in Stanley. "It's never safe to buy property without having a clear t.i.tle, and we aren't sure that we are in a position to give you a clear t.i.tle."

"That's why we haven't spoken to you about it before," said the elder Miss Clark; "we were waiting to try to make it all straight before we said anything about it one way or the other."

"Not give me a clear t.i.tle!" cried Mrs. Smith. "Do you mean that I won't be able to buy it? Why, I don't know what Dorothy will do if we can't get that bit with the brook; she has set her heart on it."

"We want you to have it not only for Dorothy's sake but for our own. It isn't a good building lot--it's too damp--and we're lucky to have an offer for it."

"Can you tell me just what the trouble is? It seems as if it ought to be straight since all of you heirs agree to the sale."

"The difficulty is," said Stanley, "that we aren't sure that we are all the heirs. We thought we were, but Uncle William made some inquiries on his way here, and he learned enough to disquiet him."

"Our father, John Clark, had a sister Judith," explained the younger Miss Clark. "They lived here on the Clark estate which had belonged to the family for many generations. Then Judith married a man named Leonard--Peter Leonard--and went to Nebraska at a time when Nebraska was harder to reach than California is now. That was long before the Civil War and during those frontier days Aunt Judith and Uncle Peter evidently were tossed about to the limit of their endurance. Her letters came less and less often and they always told of some new grief--the death of a child or the loss of some piece of property. Finally the letters ceased altogether. I don't understand why her family didn't hold her more closely, but they lost sight of her entirely."

"Probably it was more her fault than theirs," replied Mrs. Smith softly, recalling that there had been a time when her own pride had forbade her letting her people know that she was in dire distress.

"It doesn't make much difference to-day whose fault it was," declared Stanley Clark cheerfully; "the part of the story that interests us is that the family thought that all Great-aunt Judith's children were dead. Here is where Uncle William got his surprise. When he was coming on from Arkansas he stopped over for a day at the town where Aunt Judith had posted her last letter to Grandfather, about sixty years ago. There he learned from the records that she was dead and all her children were dead--_except one_."

"Except one!" repeated Mrs. Smith. "Born after she ceased writing home?"

"Exactly. Now this daughter--Emily was her name--left the town after her parents died and there is no way of finding out where she went. One or two of the old people remember that the Leonard girl left, but nothing more."

"She may be living now."

"Certainly she may; and she may have married and had a dozen children.

You see, until we can find out something about this Emily we can't give a clear t.i.tle to the land."

Mrs. Smith nodded her understanding.

"It's lucky we've never been willing to sell any of the old estate,"

said Mr. William Clark, who had entered and been listening to the story.

"If we had we should, quite ignorantly, have given a defective t.i.tle."

"Isn't it possible, after making as long and thorough a search as you can, to take the case into court and have the judge declare the t.i.tle you give to be valid, under the circ.u.mstances?"

"That is done; but you can see that such a decision would be granted only after long research on our part. It would delay your purchase considerably."

"However, it seems to me the thing to do," decided Mrs. Smith, and she and Stanley at once entered upon a discussion of the ways and means by which the hunt for Emily Leonard and her heirs was to be accomplished.

It included the employment of detectives for the spring months, and then, if they had not met with success, a journey by Stanley during the weeks of his summer vacation.

Dorothy and Ethel were bitterly disappointed at the result of Mrs.

Smith's attempt to purchase the coveted bit of land.

"I suppose it wouldn't have any value for any one else on earth," cried Dorothy, "but I want it."

"I don't think I ever saw a spot that suited me so well for a summer play place," agreed Ethel Blue, and Helen and Roger and all the rest of the Club members were of the same opinion.

"The Clarks will be putting the price up if they should find out that we wanted it so much," warned Roger.

"I don't believe they would," smiled Mrs. Smith. "They said they thought themselves lucky to have a customer for it, because it isn't good for building ground."

"We'll hope that Stanley will unearth the history of his great-aunt,"

said Roger seriously.

"And find that she died a spinster," smiled his Aunt Louise. "The fewer heirs there are to deal the simpler it will be."

CHAPTER VI

WILD FLOWERS FOR HELEN'S GARDEN

Roger had a fair crop of lettuce in one of his flats by the middle of March and transplanted the tiny, vivid green leaves to the hotbed without doing them any harm. The celery and tomato seeds that he had planted during the first week of the month were showing their heads bravely and the cabbage and cauliflower seedlings had gone to keep the lettuce company in the hotbed. On every warm day he opened the sashes and let the air circulate among the young plants.

"Wordsworth says

'It is my faith that every flower Enjoys the air it breathes,'

and I suppose that's true of vegetables, too," laughed Roger.