126 AN ISLAND GARDEN 



Of a white bat never before have I heard, but all 

 kinds of strange and remarkable creatures find 

 their way here, and I am surprised at nothing. 



Once more the weird laughter of the loons 

 comes to my ear, the distance lends it a musical, 

 melancholy sound. From a dangerous ledge off 

 the lighthouse island floats in on the still air the 

 gentle tolling of a warning bell as it swings on its 

 rocking buoy ; it might be tolling for the passing 

 of summer and sweet weather with that persist- 

 ent, pensive chime. 



And so the ripe year wanes. From turfy 

 slopes afar the breeze brings delicious, pungent, 

 spicy odors from the wild Everlasting flowers, and 

 the mushrooms are pearly in the grass. I gather 

 the seed-pods in the garden beds, sharing their 

 bounty with the birds I love so well, for there are 

 enough and to spare for us all. Soon will set 

 in the fitful weather, with fierce gales and sullen 

 skies and frosty air, and it will be time to tuck up 

 safely my Roses and Lilies and the rest for their 

 long winter sleep beneath the snow, where I never 

 forget them, but ever dream of their wakening 

 in happy summers yet to be. 



