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Mr. Todd's fence. Then I would creep through the grain like a marauding Indian until I came to the flowers. I knew it was wrong to trespass. In the ranch coutry, we were taught the meaning of that word as children. But all women, I suppose, and especially little girls are amoral in some degree and I had to have those flowers. My companions usually tired of the adventure before I did. To put an endx to it, someone entrusted with being the lookout, would hiss, "Quick, quick! Mr. Todd is coming. He'll put us in jail." What Mr. Todd would have done had he discovered us, I will never know. But not even the danger, real or imagined; ever kept me from trespassing to get the flowers.
    
     Keeping flowers in our house and arranging them into bouquets was one of my chores although to me it was anything but a chore. Safely home from raiding Mr. Todd's field, I set about experimenting with different combinations of colors for the bouquets, often interlacing the flowers with grasses or wheat stalks. Usually, I had to try several times before I was satisfied with the results. I could not have explained why. It was simply that I felt that a given color was out of place with the others and so I kept arranging and re-arranging until the combination seemed right. Again, I could not