138 THE GARDEN OF A 



the leaf mould of the woods bears a wholly different 

 fragrance from that of the soil under pasture turf, 

 or the breath that the garden gives off in great 

 sighs of relief when it is relaxed and refreshed by 

 a summer shower. 



This happy birthday has held two sensations not 

 in the planning and planting scheme. When we 

 were sorting the bulbs, the hounds carried off the 

 bag of snowdrops, and after worrying it, ate a por- 

 tion of its contents. Without looking in either 

 Dodoens's or Gerarde's "Herbal" for the medicinal 

 properties of snowdrops, I now know that they 

 give puppies severe colic. Fortunately Bugle and 

 Tally-ho did not eat many, and Evan secured the 

 rest and has bedded them in a spot unknown to 

 me, so that some early spring day I may go out 

 and be surprised by finding them. 



I also have planted a surprise for Evan in the 

 grass bank at the foot of the honeysuckle tangle, 

 a spot where the sun lies warmest in March, half 

 a dozen tufts of yellow primroses and cowslips taken 

 from the Somerset garden and smuggled home in 

 a box of moss deep in a trunk cover. If they thrive, 

 he shall have a bank of them in time, for I saved 

 plenty of seed. 



The second happening was more serious. The 



