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“But a sun-dial! How romantic. Particularly as only two of the clocks go. Celia, if you’d let me have a sun-dial in my window-box, I would meet you by it alone sometimes.”

“It sounds lovely,” she said doubtfully.

“You do want to make this window-box a success, don’t you?” I asked as we wandered on. “Well, then, help me to buy something for it. I don’t suggest one of those,” and I pointed to a summer-house, “or even a weather-cock; but we must do something now we’re here. For instance, what about one of these patent extension ladders, in case the geraniums grow very tall and you want to climb up and smell them? Or would you rather have some mushroom spawn? I would get up early and pick the mushrooms for breakfast. What do you think?”

“I think it’s too hot for anything, and I must sit down. Is this seat an exhibit or is it meant for sitting on?”

“It’s an exhibit, but we might easily want to buy one some day, when our window-box gets bigger. Let’s try it.”

It was so hot that I think, if the man in charge of the Rustic Bench Section had tried to move us on, we should have bought the seat at once. But nobody bothered us. Indeed it was quite obvious that the news that we owned a large window-box had not yet got about.

“I shall leave you here,” I said, after I had smoked a cigarette and dipped into the catalogue again, “and make my purchase. It will be quite inexpensive; indeed, it is marked in the catalogue at one-and-six-pence, which means that they will probably offer me the nine-shilling size first. But I shall be firm. Good-bye.”

I went and bought one and returned to her with it.

“No, not now,” I said, as she held out her hand eagerly. “Wait till we get home.”

It was cooler now, and we wandered through the tents, chatting patronizingly to the stall-keeper whenever we came to pink geraniums. At the orchids we were contemptuously sniffy. “Of course,” I said, “for those who like orchids–” and led the way back to the geraniums again. It was an interesting afternoon.

And to our great joy the window-box was in position when we got home again.

“Now!” I said dramatically, and I unwrapped my purchase and placed it in the middle of our new-made garden.

“Whatever–“

“A slug-trap,” I explained proudly.

“But how could slugs get up here?” asked Celia in surprise.

“How do slugs get anywhere? They climb up the walls, or they come up in the lift, or they get blown about by the wind–I don’t know. They can fly up if they like; but, however it be, when they do come, I mean to be ready for them.”

Still, though our slug-trap will no doubt come in usefully, it is not what we really want. What we gardeners really want is rain.