VI 
FTER an absence of only ten days, 
such changes had taken place in the 
garden that it was like seeing a long-lost 
friend to get back to it once more. I left 
it paralysed with drought. During the last 
two weeks in May, day had succeeded day 
with not so much as a shower, hardly did dew 
form at night, the earth was baked, and the 
plants parched. Watering was only done 
with bucket and watering-pot, so that but 
one small portion in an evening could be 
thoroughly drenched. The little seedlings 
only kept alive but could not grow. But 
this condition was broken during my absence, 
and gentle, plentiful rains started growth 
with a rush. 
What instantly ‘‘jumped to the eye,” as 
the French say, when I got back to it, was 
the profusion of roses. It was like a 
bower, the bushes bowed to the ground with 
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