MY 



Handkerchief Garden. 





CHAPTER I. 



ROm IT BGGAO. 



LONG the edge of the 

 Sound, from Stamford to 

 New York, we had looked 

 everywhere in the hope that 

 we might find a small house, 

 a little garden, and a low 

 rent. These things seldom 

 grow together. Houses with 

 no land, land enough with 

 big houses, and both land 

 and houses in plenty at high rents. At last it was 

 found ; a six-room house with a mere handkerchief 

 of a garden, measui ing about one-tliirtieth of an acre, 

 or about as big as a city back yard. The soil was 

 a wet, heavy clay, full of stones, and shaded by a 

 number of tall trees growing on the next lot. In 

 March, 1887, we moved to the place, and on the 

 twenty-first we paid twenty-five cents for one ounce 



(I) 



