OUR SENTIMENTAL GARDEN 



the young men and women of the village. Her little boy 

 was running up and down after her, wringing his hands and 

 ejaculating, "Mamma, ye'll be kilt! Mamma, ye'll be 

 kilt ! " to perfectly regardless ears. 



In a whirl of energy we were rushed into tea / and, while 

 drawing off her loose gloves and flinging them at random 

 into a corner, our hostess's tongue, which was as nimble 

 as her little feet, never ceased wagging : 



"I hope you don't mind the smell! Oh, it's a terrible 

 smell. But it's only the dogs, ye know. We've been 

 washing them. They're sick, poor things. Not infectious, 

 ye needn't be a bit afraid. Only mange, or something. 

 It's the sulphur in the soap, ye know. Come in, come 

 in ! Oh, I do hope we have got something fit to eat ! 

 Katie, Katie! <Katie's me eldest daughter) Katie, what 

 have we got ? Ah, it's horrid ! Ah, I don't know what's 

 the matter with them. Yes, it's a fine big room. We 

 were dancing here last week. YOU wouldn't think it to 

 look at it now, would you ? 'Pon my word ! I was 

 thinking to meself that night, ' It's a queer world we live 

 in, with all those saints looking down at us with their bare 

 legs, and we with our bare backs ! ' Oh, yes, they're 

 very grand old paintings, I dare say ! But there is a deal 

 of bare legs about them. Will you have any more? 

 Ah, no, ye can't eat it ! I don't wonder, I can't meself. 

 Will you come into the garden ? I'd like to be showing 

 you the garden. Where's me gloves ? Where's me yellow 

 gloves ? Katie, did ye see me yellow gloves ? Ah, never 

 mind! This way. I've been making a new herbaceous 

 border. Ah, 'pon me word, if they've not gone and 

 locked the garden door ! Sunday's the mischief ! Never 

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