126 THE JOY OF GARDENS 



conserved and the species saved. The berry patch is a 

 fertile field for thought. Its variety is so infinite that the 

 hungry materialist seeking his dinner may be satisfied, the 

 scientific inquirer find meat to his liking, the poet beauty 

 for his verse, the painter pictures for the eyes, and the 

 tired man all things for a holiday. 



Berry picking is hard work under the guise of play. 

 No one ever complains of its weariness. And well it 

 would be for us if the day's labor at all times could be 

 turned to play by overlooking the stubble that blocks the 

 way and the brambles that scratch the hands of the hardy 

 adventurer in search of success. 



As the summer mellows it seems as if earth has stolen 

 gold from the sun and decked herself like a queen to idle 

 languidly in the long, bright days. The grainfields in 

 the wide country farms reflect a yellowed light appearing 

 to the half-closed eyes like sheets of burnished gold 

 framed in the green of luxuriant lanes, fringed with a 

 tracery of wild sunflowers, burnished and polished like 

 disks of precious metal. 



Nor does the trickery of decoration stop here. The 

 same elf weaving the world-design has waved its wand 

 above our flower borders, and as we draw aside the cur- 

 tains to catch the fresh breeze of early morning and to 

 gain a fuller hearing of the wren singing to her nestlings 

 from her downy home under the eaves, the dew-gemmed 

 blossoms of sunny flowers weave a pattern of gold lace 



