150 A WHITE-PAPER GARDEN 



growths of Eulalie grasses outlined an over- 

 grown path which led toward an opening 

 where once had been closed gates. Some- 

 body had left these open overnight once upon 

 a time, and a branch of evergreen honey- 

 suckle had thrown a wandering arm across 

 one, while the English ivy of the farther gate- 

 post had made haste to seize upon the other. 

 Nobody had taken the trouble to think of 

 the gates since about that time. Neglect, 

 who had been but a chance visitor, took a 

 permanent lease of the premises, and one by 

 one the tendrils of the vines had woven about 

 them a cordage far too strong for any wind to 

 break, and so, over these green entrances the 

 white, clustered roses ran riot, and made a 

 pretty strife with the blossoming grape vines 

 to see what might be happening in the lane. 

 Against the north wall of a ruined green- 

 house a long bank of Funkias spread their 

 green cordate leaves, and disposed their stalks 

 of white, heavy-scented blooms. That was 

 all, but it was business enough for one summer 

 to listen to the play of the winds among the 

 tree tops ; to study the shadows as they came 

 and shifted, and stole away ; to watch the slow 



