The Happy Garden 



passing of summer into autumn, of autumn into 

 winter, and long after the leaves have fallen and 

 nearly all the plants have gone into winter-quarters 

 they put out their defiant little pink buttons with a 

 forlorn little swagger. But they have to submit 

 like the rest of us and retire for the next year's 

 work of covering up their crinolines, in which, at 

 last, the horticulturists have found a use for the 

 hoops of our grandmothers. 



Weeds and ants battle for possession of the 

 crevices between the stones. The ants I murder 

 with paraffin, and as for the weeds, when they grow 

 too rampant, I invite one of those visitors who 

 burn to be of use to their hostess. 



A hedge of dwarf lavender marks off the court- 

 yard from the lawn, beginning by the stone steps 

 with the lions — they came from Venice, and are 

 called James and John — right round to the old 

 apple tree that was struck by lightning, and now 

 serves as a prop for climbing roses and wistaria, 

 which, when it is grown tall enough, is to mingle 

 with the laburnum growing near by. Inside the 

 lavender, in the spring, grow crocuses and tulips, 

 and by the time these are over the lavender has 

 grown out over the stones. Over the round draw- 

 ing-room window a lieine Henriette rose climbs 

 about the brown roof, and near by a Judas tree 



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