322 Old Time Gardens 



old sink drain at the kitchen door rendered up to 

 the spring sunshine all the combined vapors of all 

 the dish-water of all the winter. The barn and hen- 

 house and cow-house reeked in the sunlight, but the 

 pigpen easily conquered them all. There was an 

 ancient cesspool far too near the kitchen door, under- 

 ground and not to b^ seen, but present, nevertheless. 

 A hogshead of rain-water stood at the cellar door, 

 and one at the end of the barn — to water the flowers 

 with — they fancied rotten rain-water made flowers 

 grow! A foul dye-tub was ever reeking in every 

 kitchen chimney corner, a culminating horror in 

 stenches; and vessels of ancient soap grease festered 

 in the outer shed, the grease collected through the 

 winter and waiting for the spring soap-making. The 

 vapor of sour milk, ever present, was of little moment 

 — when there was so much else so much worse. 

 There wasn't a bath-tub in the grandfather's house, 

 nor in any other house in town, nor any too much 

 bathing in winter, either, I am sure, in icy well-water 

 in icier sleeping rooms. The windows were care- 

 fully closed all winter long, but the open fireplaces 

 managed to save the life of the inmates, though the 

 walls and rafters were hung with millions of germs 

 which every one knows are all the wickeder when 

 they don'c smell, because you take no care, fancying 

 they are not there. But the grandfather knew 

 naught of germs — and was happy. The trees 

 shaded the house so that the roof was always damp. 

 Oh, how those germs grew and multiplied in the 

 grateful shade of those lovely trees, and how mould 

 and rust rejoiced. Well might people turn from all 



