THE LURE OF THE GARDEN 



awake by the nightingales, singing through the long 

 summer twilights. At the foot of the garden farthest 

 from the house, the wall faced south, and was quite cov- 

 ered behind plum- and apricot-trees neatly spread and 

 tacked down with pieces of felt. Many a happy morn- 

 ing and smashed finger testified to the earnest labor of 

 our small hands, permitted to assist in subduing the 

 natural inclination of those trees to stand on their own 

 roots and maintain an independent existence. Next to 

 the trees were rows of currant- and gooseberry-bushes, 

 and there was a cucumber frame and a number of long 

 narrow beds of lettuces, radishes, peas, and vegetable 

 marrows, as well as two huge bushes of lavender, whose 

 tiny fragrant blossoms we helped to gather. 



In front of the house was the flower garden, sepa- 

 rated into two unequal parts by a gravel pathway that 

 led from gate to door. Along this path went prim 

 standard rose-trees presenting their bloom in the form 

 of a bouquet, and standing very erect. A tall arbor- vitae 

 hedge shielded the garden from the road that led to the 

 village, and I never smell its pungent odor to this day 

 without a drifting memory of that English garden. 



There was a little greenhouse, and in a corner of the 

 lawn a table and comfortable seats where tea was served 

 in fine weather. Many flowers grew in the long beds 

 that ran all round this lawn, close to the walls, which 

 were buried in ivy, and close to the house were rows of 

 hollyhocks and larkspur in splendid clumps. In my 



