44 THE GARDEN OF A 



really prefers well-printed books to cheap affairs with 

 paper covers, and quite appreciated the green morocco 

 bindings on my Bacon's works. I haven't told you 

 that last winter I secured a copy of that 1753 folio 

 edition, in three volumes, with the Vertue portrait, 



that I missed through irresolution at the sale, 



though I could not have it bound until after your 

 Aunt Lot's marriage. 



" He is all eagerness, too, about a course of read- 

 ing I had planned for him this winter, even hoping 

 for early frost, so that he may begin." 



"Early frost is one thing he cannot be allowed 

 to have, for I want open ground for a month to 

 come," I said, hardly able to keep my face straight. 



Dear old dad was terribly in earnest, and so 

 easily imposed upon, and this wretch had keenly 

 scented out his chief foible. It also made my 

 heart ache to think of father's home loneliness 

 during those two years, when he had no one to 

 appreciate his treasures but a gardener. Book 

 collecting up to a certain point is a secretive occu- 

 pation, but something in the pleasure is lacking if 

 there is no chance to display the latest purchase 

 in a nonchalant way to the gaze of some one who 

 knows its value. 



" He may be discerning," I said, after steadying 



