206 A HOME VEGETABLE-GARDEN 



of a childhood friend. A low doorstep opens 

 level with the worn stone and right by the side 

 door a stately elm casts its widespreading shade. 

 The grass-grown pebble walk leads out through 

 the flower-garden to the place of adventure. 

 Honeysuckles grow in sweet clumps here and 

 there in the tall grass along the path ; the flower- 

 ing almonds are fragrant with their tiny rose-like 

 blossoms; "pineys" rich and red shed their soft 

 petals under our feet. Beyond is the broken 

 bit of "teetering" plank across the narrow dry 

 gully in front of the gate. With the creak of the 

 rusty hinges began childhood's adventure, the 

 orchard where the gilliflowers grew and the rus- 

 sets, and where we played as we devoured the 

 luscious strawberry apples, juicy and ripe. Noth- 

 ing but the supper call could bring us back to 

 prosaic life again. New worlds open, old times 

 come again with the lotus scent, the flash of color 

 of the flowers, and the old gardens. 



The breeze goes down towards the end of a quiet 

 day. The dew brings close the scent of growing 

 things, and whiff of lavender. Now I see grand- 

 mother's cool shuttered room and the sweet- 

 smelling linen in the depths of the old chest of 

 drawers, and a low weather-grayed homestead on 

 the slope of the hill, in the wide unmown door- 

 yard. Near the angle of the woodshed ell stands 

 the open trough, its cool gurgling water overflow- 

 ing the moss-streaked battered sides. Nearby on 



