"That fellow must be three years old," said he, holding it up for me to
examine. "Very likely you have cut off the top every season, supposing
you were killing it. But the dandelion can be exterminated only by
destroying the root.
"Then," he continued, "there is the dock, more prolific of seeds than
the dandelion, and the red-sorrel, worse than either, because its roots
travel under ground in all directions, throwing up suckers at every
inch, while its tops are hung with myriads of seeds,--the hoe will never
exterminate these pests. You must get rid of the roots; throw them out
to such a sun as this, and then you may hope to be somewhat clear of
them."
All this was entirely new to me, as well as the botanical names, with
which he seemed to be as familiar as with the alphabet. I had often
wondered how it was that the dandelions in our garden never diminished
in number, though not one had usually been allowed to go to seed. I now
saw, that, instead of destroying the plant itself, we had only been
removing the tops.
"But how is it, Mr. Logan," I inquired, "that the weeds are everywhere
more numerous than the flowers?"
"Ah, Miss," he replied, resting the hoe upon his shoulder, taking off
his hat, and wiping the perspiration from his forehead, "I sometimes
think the weeds are immortal, but that the flowers are not.
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