160 A BOOK OF ENGLISH GARDENS 



" Hannah looked upon her flowers as children, 

 always alluding to them as 'her' or 'him,' and she 

 insisted on our calling upon them in turn, and 

 recounted to us their histories, how long she had 

 had them, where they came from, and with whom 

 she had divided them (the poor are so generous 

 with their flower treasures, unlike the rich ; with the 

 former it is certainly a case of 'what I gave I have'). 

 Before we said goodbye to Hannah in the little 

 red-tiled kitchen, the sunlight, streaming in between 

 the Geraniums and French Lavender which filled 

 the lattice window, making pretty patterns on the 

 floor, she presented us each with a posy of flowers, 

 varying in size according to our ages. They were 

 stiff, like altar bouquets in shape, built up on a 

 background of stiff Box and Lad's-love, and made 

 of Carnations and Lavender and a plentiful supply 

 of Monthly Roses, Honeysuckle, scented Geraniums, 

 Snapdragon, and a white 'paper flower,' as we 

 called it, never discovering its real name. 



" There was another Garden which was a great 

 joy to us children though rather a fearful joy, 

 owing to its somehow filling us with a sense of awe ; 

 it belonged to Mrs. B , the village school- 

 mistress, and was prim, like herself a type that has 

 long since passed away from English village life. 

 She taught us needlework, and seldom now do you 

 see such 'stitchery.' People in the twentieth 

 century have not time to do work like hers. 



