THE CHARM OF GARDENS 



staring, the windows like blind eyes. Every ground- 

 floor flat had the disadvantage of less light and air than 

 the others, but it was the possessor of about nine feet of 

 land between the door and the pavement. For a long 

 time I waited to see what would become of this tenant- 

 less row of houses. I gained a kind of affection for them, 

 and walked past the white signboards once or twice a 

 week reading always " To Let " written on the windows, 

 painted on the notice board, pasted on papers across the 

 doors. The melancholy aspect of these houses appealed 

 to me ; they had a look of dumb anxiety as if they longed 

 to hear the sound of voices in their empty rooms. At 

 last I saw one day three huge furniture vans drawn up in 

 front of the houses, and during the next two weeks more 

 vans arrived and there was a sound of hammering in the 

 street, and a smell of unpacking. Men came there with 

 boxes and parcels, and tradesmen began to drive up in 

 carts and motor-cars. I felt that those houses still 

 standing empty had a jealous look in their windows, like 

 little girls who had been left to sit out at a dance. The 

 notice boards were all shifted to their front gardens, 

 their bell wires still hung unconnected from holes by the 

 front door. 



The thing I was really waiting to see happened at 

 Number Two. The builder, after finishing the houses 

 had, I suppose, come to the conclusion that a little help 

 from Nature would do no harm. Some good fairy 

 prompted him to plant Almond and May Trees alternate- 

 ly in the front gardens. To each house an Almond and a 

 May. I had waited eagerly, determining by some fan- 

 tastic twist that the spirit of the new houses would first 

 make her appearance in one of these trees. So far the 

 street had possessed no character except that vague 

 rawness that all new places wear. The great event 

 occurred at Number Two. Very delicately an Almond 



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