i;8 THE GARDEN OF A 



plight of the village, and so we had a day of absolute 

 and enforced rest in which to arrange and plant our 

 indoor garden of books. 



The one-time parlour across the hall from father's 

 study and office had been developing (I suppose 

 Aunt Lot would say degenerating) into a comfortable 

 den for a month past 



The best chairs that for so many years had stood 

 primly back against the wall were scattered about 

 the room, their places taken by a continuous line 

 of book-shelves of a height that left picture space 

 above. The claw-footed mahogany table was drawn 

 well into the bay and littered with books and maga- 

 zines in a way that must have surprised it. A pair 

 of scroll-ended mahogany sofas faced each other 

 on either side of the fireplace, improvising a sort 

 of ingle nook, their antique and inhospitable hair- 

 cloth hidden by the bright, harmonious colours of 

 some Mexican rugs. The north window was Evan's 

 lair; an open bookcase jutted out on either side to 

 form an alcove with a wide-topped desk between, 

 while I had a somewhat similar nook by an odd, 

 doorlike casement at one side of the fireplace. A 

 great rug and a few big chairs made up- the 

 furniture, leaving plenty of room for ' living, moving, 

 and having our being.' A woman educated by men 



