neighbourhood dogs came and lay on them. Dogs love flowerbeds, especially when the earth has been freshly dug and raked. And a young iris, after having been slept on by a heavy dog, is never quite the same. Or perhaps the word would go round among the truck drivers that it would be interesting to drive their great flat wheels over the edge of one of his flowerbeds or grass-plots.
Sometimes, to have a little colour in his garden, he would go down to Mr. Steiger's greenhouse and bring home a lot of flowers already in blossom. Then he hunted for the trowel and the rake, which took some time. He had some very nice tools in his garage, but they were all wandering tools. They did not like to stay in one place. The trowel, when no one was looking, would slip off and lie under a tree somewhere in the back lot. It was a hide-and-seek trowel, and very clever. When he found the trowel (he never did find the rake, not that special little rake he was so fond of) it was getting dark, but he planted the flowers and watered them. For several days they seemed bright and gay, but gradually they dwindled. They got pale and meagre. He had to content himself mostly with pansies and marigolds, because these will flourish almost anywhere.
