66 ESCAPED FROM GARDENS 



for it is untenanted, windowless. Its shingles flap 

 strangely in the wind, the woodshed doors are gone, 

 the well-sweep, too. The sun shines through the 

 warped siding of the barn upon the brooding swal- 

 lows and phoebes, which have claimed it as their 

 own for many generations. The bank wall yet 

 remains that kept the knoll from slipping down hill ; 

 the stone steps are in the gap, likewise the wicket 

 gate. Time o' Year has shown me the names of 

 its last tenants on a grim slate slab back on another 

 hill; but the woman's hand has left a sign about 

 the old house still better than graven sentences. 



The Lilac bushes once carefully set out between 

 the foreroom windows and the porch have thriven 

 and run riot, until the ruined house is walled by 

 them. Straggling off, they have also crept about 

 the outbuildings indeed, everywhere that grass- 

 cutting has spared them. These Lilacs also, in 

 their turn, have brought tenants to the house once 

 more, robins that nest under the attic windows; 

 a gray squirrel family, who live in a broken cup- 

 board, using the Lilacs for ladders in frequent exits 

 and entrances; and cheerful song sparrows, who set 

 their nests among the gnarled roots and sing home 

 ballads, perching on the sprays that brush the earless, 

 voiceless house. 



