110 THE JONATHAN PAPERS 



ashes and blackened brick, two great heaps 

 of stone where the chimneys had been, with 

 the stone slabs that lined the fireplaces fallen 

 together. At one end was the deep stone cellar 

 filled now with young beeches as tall as the 

 house once was. Just outside stood two 

 cherry trees close to the old house wall so 

 close that they had burned with it and now 

 stood, black and bare and gaunt, in silent 

 comradeship. At the other end I almost 

 stumbled into the old well, dark and still, with 

 a glimmer of sky at the bottom. 



But I did not like the ruin, nor the black 

 well lurking in the weeds and ashes. The gar 

 den was better, and I went back to it and fol 

 lowed the stone path as it turned past the 

 end of the house and led, under another 

 broad hedge of box now choked by lusty 

 young maples, to the old rose-garden. Beyond 

 were giant lilacs, and groups of waxberry 

 bushes covered with the pretty white balls 

 that children love to string; there was the old- 

 fashioned &quot;burning-bush,&quot; already preparing 

 its queer, angled berries for autumn splendors. 

 And among these, still holding their own in 

 the tangle, clumps of the tall, rose-lilac phloxes 



