MY ROSE-GARDEN 255 



darker, and a heavy fog came in from the 

 sea, so that I could hardly see him, but I 

 kept my glass on him for nearly an hour, 

 and my arms ached well before a bird sud- 

 denly flew rapidly close past him without a 

 sound or a touch, and instantly the young 

 one followed. 



All through the day I sat by my open 

 door watching the little drama of bird-life 

 till late afternoon, when I usually went to 

 my rose-garden to replenish my bowl for the 

 morrow. 



This garden of delights was at some dis- 

 tance from The Snuggery. It was a tangle 

 of bushes from two to three feet high and 

 perhaps twenty feet in extent, which was 

 loaded through the season with buds and 

 blossoms of the wild rose in all stages. It 

 was bewildering to look at. What can be 

 more perfect than a wild rose from the time 

 the pink petals begin to show between the 

 green bands that restrain them till wide 

 open to the sun ! 



I look at them in despair the sight is 

 almost painfully lovely hundreds of them 

 open invitingly, each flower more exquisite 



