The Orchard 



Dorothy Perkins, Lady Gay, Carmine Pillar and 

 Rubens — a glorious splash of colour against the 

 green and grey and purple haze of the woods. 

 A peep of them can always be seen from the table 

 in the orchard. Under the fruit trees in the 

 spring there is always colour and blossom. Crocuses 

 begin the dance, and when they are weary it is 

 taken up by anemones, muscari, daffodils and nar- 

 cissi, and cottage tulips of every colour possible. 

 These are planted in masses ; one or two trees 

 have only the deep blue muscari and blue anemones, 

 and they are almost the most satisfying. Later on 

 in May, a brave troop of Darwin tulips marches 

 down by the rose hedge and the privet hedge to 

 the shrine of the Madonna of the orchard. It is 

 the overture to the symphony, leading to the 

 pastoral of the blossoms. Nothing is needed but 

 young lambs to skip under the trees. Failing lambs, 

 we tried kittens, but their mother, the black kitchen 

 cat, objected, and hauled them all back to her dark 

 cupboard in the pantry ; she is an ugly cat, but a 

 most excellent parent, and she will trust no one, 

 except Luath, who watched their birth, and when 

 one of the kittens was lifted down from the bed, 

 he picked it up and restored it to her. The tender 

 chivalry of the act won her undying confidence, 

 and when she requires a rest she leaves him in 



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