BOOK OF THE GARDEN, YOU, AND I 9 



in the garden, there too is Martin. To-day, however, 

 he joined my men before noon at the lower brook. 

 Fancy a house-reared man a convert to fishing when 

 past threescore! Evan insists that it is because, be- 

 ing above all things consistent, he wishes to appear at 

 home in the company of father's cherished collection of 

 Walton's and other fishing books. Father says, 

 "Nonsense ! no man can help liking to fish !" 



Toward evening came home a creel lined with bog 

 moss ; within, a rainbow glimmer of brook trout, a posy 

 of shad-bush, marsh marigolds, anemones, and rosy 

 spring beauties from the river woods, with three 

 cheerfully tired men, who gathered by the den hearth 

 fire with coffee cup and pipe, inside an admiring but 

 sleepy circle of beagle hounds, who had run free the 

 livelong day and who could doubtless impart the latest 

 rabbit news with thrilling detail. All this and much 

 more made up to-day, one of red letters. 



Yesterday, Monday, was quite different, and if not 

 absolutely black, was decidedly slate coloured. It is only 

 when some one of the household is positively ill that 

 the record must be set down in black characters, for 

 what else really counts? Why is it that the city folk 

 persist in judging all rural days alike, that is until they 

 have once really lived in the country, not merely boarded 



