112 THE GARDEN OF A 



ing to doze, but merely realize the luxurious state 

 of things. This enjoyment of an occasional late 

 breakfast is one of the joys of the commuter and 

 his wife which is denied the blase beings who always 

 breakfast in winter at eight or nine. As for spring 

 and summer mornings, who but a cripple could lie 

 in bed ? 



In spite of my intention I fell asleep, for the next 

 thing I remember, the tall clock down in the hall 

 whirred and struck eight times, accompanied by the 

 baying with which the hounds always answered its 

 warning when within earshot. Evan was missing, 

 while strange noises on the piazza at the back of the 

 house whetted my naturally rampant curiosity, and 

 made me dress in a very incoherent fashion and 

 hurry downstairs. 



Where was Evan ? Father was at the breakfast 

 table. Delia fluttered about in a conscious way, and 

 as I entered the room, Evan dodged in at the opposite 

 side through a long window, looking quite guilty and 

 with marks of the soil on the knees of his knicker- 

 bockers, his feet, and hands : the latter he hid in the 

 pockets of his coat. Then as I glanced at the table 

 almost covered with flowers, I realized that it was my 

 birthday, and that somebody had taken a long drive 

 to the greenhouse in town while I was still sleeping, 



