254 THE GARDEN OF A 



later fame, though all have borne the test of at 

 least a score of years, the original growth renew- 

 ing itself from the root, and one and all are faith- 

 ful, satisfactory bloomers, asking only deep, rich soil, 

 a shelter of cedar boughs in winter, a light April 

 pruning, and two sprayings with weak whale oil soap- 

 suds before the buds show colour, while in return 

 they will yield armsful, apronsful, yes, clothes- 

 basketsful, of roses. 



June 14. Saturday. This morning as I was 

 pottering among the roses, making ready for the 

 June festival now beginning, by tying up a branch 

 here and there, and seeing that the bushes were 

 well supported in case heavy showers should come 

 when the bloom was at its height, I heard a babel 

 of voices that seemed to come from the wood lot 

 in the direction of the wild walk. 



I hastened down there because we have already 

 transplanted many ferns and wild plants to the 

 edge of the path, and the trees and bushes are 

 full of nesting birds that I knew of old used to 

 attract unregenerate school children on egg hunts 

 bent, so that either father or Tim had been fre- 

 quently obliged to patrol the place on Saturdays 

 in May and June. 



Guided by the voices, I soon came upon a group 



