156 THE GARDEN OF A 



sombre tone of the native red cedars that gather 

 round the bars. 



Woman ; you who have bought the bit of ground 

 with trees on the cross-road, that your children may 

 be born to country life, plant evergreens in the north 

 for a windbreak and on the south for a pleasure to 

 the eye. Not the new-fangled blue spruces, golden 

 hemlocks fit only to be confined to the lawn as 

 breeze-excluding ornaments, or the stunted firs of 

 florist's catalogues, but the sturdy old forest trees 

 that rear their heads laughing in the gale and grow 

 mightily, white pines and the Scotch fir of ruddy 

 bark, white and black spruce of long or clustering 

 cones, graceful hemlock spruce, and the dwarfer bal- 

 sam fir of fragrant breath. 



These are the things of the garden of winter that 

 none may spare, and they also become welcome 

 havens to the birds that are brave enough to bear us 

 company. 



I was quite soothed by the prospect before me in 

 combination with the warmth of Bluff's body, for he 

 sat leaning against my knees with his chin resting in 

 my hands and eyes fixed on my face. A knock on 

 the door broke the spell. 



Enter MartJta Corkle, neat, respectful, but evidently 

 labouring under excitement. 



