370 THE GARDEN, YOU, AND I 



it was Maria and The Man, and the strange part of it 

 is that as far as may be known neither is nourishing 

 the sentiment of a melancholy past and no other 

 present man or woman stands between; perhaps it is 

 some uncanny Opal spell that stays them. Yet even 

 as it is, in this farm restoration both are unconsciously 

 preparing to take a peep into Pandora's Chest full of 

 the unknown, so let us hope the gods are willing. 



Hallowe'en. The Infant and Anastasia, her memo- 

 ries revived by Larry's voluble and personally 

 adapted folk-lore, are preparing all sorts of traps and 

 feasts for good luck and fairies, while Lady Lazy is 

 content to look at the log fire and plan for putting 

 the garden to sleep. Yesterday I finished taking 

 up my collection of peonies, Iris, and hardy chrysan- 

 themums that had been "promised" at various farm 

 gardens beyond the river woods, and duly cleared off 

 my indebtednesses for the same with a varied assort- 

 ment of articles ranging from gladioli bulbs, which 

 seem to multiply by cube root here, to a pair of curl- 

 ing tongs, an article long coveted by a simple-minded 

 woman of more than middle age, for the resuscita- 

 tion of her Sunday front locks, and which though 

 willing to acquire by barter she, as a deacon's wife, 



