OUR COUNTRY HOME 



sure to float down to the hollow boulder near, for their daily splash. 

 All summer long, gray squirrels ran over the loosely-laid rafters, and 

 chipmunks rustled in the leaves, to appear before one, and squeal 

 for the accustomed nut. In the early Fall the Louisiana water 

 thrush teetered under the salvia blossoms, and chickadees called 

 merrily from the tall dry sunflowers in the woods close by. The 

 yellow leaves came tumbling down, the bending oak was crimson 

 against the sky, and we said, " Can any season be more beautiful 

 than Fall ? " 



In winter, under the snow, the pergola was still more pictur- 

 esque. Blue shadows lay on the glistening ground, and every cranny 

 and tiny crack was filled with soft white powdery flakes. The 

 oak leaves rustled in the sharp air, the sky was all a wonderful blue, 

 the trunks of the trees were velvety black, and every blade and 

 leaf and twig was glistening with ice in the sunshine. 



But, after all, midsummer finds it in its glory. All about the 

 posts are twined the wild virgin's bower, with its cousin from Japan, 

 a little clematis Jackmanni and the pure white Henryi; the wood- 

 bine of course, and the wild grape, the akebia quinata and the 

 rampant kudzu vine; the old-fashioned Prairie Queen rose and 

 the Baltimore Belle and the crimson rambler in splendid great 

 sprays of bloom twenty feet long; plenty of eglantine, delicious 

 under the hot sun, the northern fox and the Niagara grape and 

 that splendid climber, the trumpet-vine. 



At one end, by the house, is a small terra cotta wall-fountain 



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