barbaric tribes in far away Isles. Oh, let me dwell upon 

 that important day when I received my first lesson in graft- 

 ing trees ! I think of him now as a saint as he knelt on his 

 crutched cane and helped me splice the scion and the stock. 

 I trust the day may come when I may pilgrim with our son 

 to that spot, as I do now in fond imagination ! 



As I listen to the happy prattle of the child at my knees, 

 and, looking into its eyes see the same brightness and color 

 as the eyes of my kindergartner, why should I believe that 

 the simple sandstone monument near the bleak commons of 

 far-away Herzberg-am-Harz marks the spot where all 

 that I embraced of him rests for ever? And my kindergar- 

 ten, do I not see it now this very minute ! I walk 

 up to the portal and find him seated on the green 

 garden-bench as of old. The large rosebed spreads out 

 before him, with the Kaiser von Marocco, the Duke of Edin- 

 burgh, the Marechal Niel, the Souvenir de la Malmaison, all 

 those sturdy old-timers which we budded to the twigs of the 

 standards. There he sits, the wide screening cap drawn 

 over his face to protect the eyes from the glaring sun. And 

 the thoughts which go through his mind as he sits there on 

 the evening of his life? Oh, reader mine, I have looked into 

 his eyes so many times that I trust at last I have caught 

 these threads of thoughts and woven them in new ply and 

 new woofs. Here they are, covered by the lid which reads: 



What is a kindergarten? 



