GARDEN PATHS 



Tarquin slew gave their message. The Pinks that 

 Michonis brought to Marie Antoinette grew by some 

 garden path ; that very bunch of Pinks in which lay a 

 note promising her safety, brought her death more 

 near. What comedies, what tragedies, vows made and 

 broken, kisses stolen and repented, have not had for 

 platform just such a path as mine. 



At the first hint of broken soil a robin, pert and ready, 

 took up a position on a bare limb of Penzance Briar, 

 and began to eye us merrily just as if he, I and the 

 garden were all out for a day's worm hunting. 



Said I, " Dick, we are out to make a garden path, 

 incidentally to make history." For I had my idea 

 of the " History of Paths " well at the back of my 

 mind. 



The robin replied (or as good as replied), " If it's 

 history you're after, it's insects I'm here for, so we'll 

 come at a bargain." 



Meanwhile the gardener turned another clod. 

 Said the robin, " I never saw any one so slow." 

 Slow as we might have been we were quick enough 

 in imagination. For one thing there was the question 

 of edging. Tiles, bricks, box, stones, which was it 

 to be ? 



Half-way down the trench we had made, just at the 

 acute point of the greater curve, the gardener pro- 

 pounded the question of the edging. He leaned on his 

 spade, and turning to me asked if I had thought to 

 something to edge the path with. Now my thoughts 

 were far away from that idea and were hovering 

 like butterflies over a vision of the Path Complete. I 

 saw, for Springtime, a row of Daffodils nodding and 

 yellow in the breeze. For Summer I saw Carnations 

 gleaming richly, and the Roses all blooming. Over- 

 head the driven sky hung out blue banners of distress 



