288 THE GARDEN OF A 



double first cousins raised by a maiden aunt in a gar- 

 den of flimsy foliage beds. Nothing else can justify 

 their dementia. I wonder if they will make another 

 nesting venture this season and where it will be. 



July 29. Delia was married at seven last even- 

 ing. The gods were not propitious, for it rained, 

 though of course the fact that the wedding gown 

 was still fashionable was the main thing. 



A funereal city hack containing the groom and 

 bridesmaid came to the side door, and as I bade 

 Delia good-by, in pity I pretended not to see that 

 the redness of the groom's face was from other 

 causes than bashfulness. The bride was white as 

 her ostrich plume, and unluckily, as they drove out 

 the gate, a mischievous owl gave a perfectly audible 

 though distant hoot. 



Mrs. Mullins dropped in this morning to "give 

 me the news" and a fragment of very boggy 

 wedding cake. 



" Sure, Miss Barbara darlint, 'tis bad to be shifty 

 moinded altogether, and that's what them three are, 

 mother, son, and Dalia. I'm looking for loively 

 times betuchen them. 'Six to one,' says I to Mullins, 

 ' if Dalia isn't in the onion fields agin spring, like the 



