THE CHARM OF GARDENS 



cheerful religious woman without a particle of sham 

 in her nature, that when God called her she was ready 

 and glad to go, and as for the garden she would only 

 go to another one — far more beautiful. 



Her faith, I found afterwards, was of a sweet simple 

 kind, and had been with her as a child, and remained 

 with her as a woman, untouched by the least doubt. 

 She heard Mass every morning of her life in the little 

 church half a mile away, and spoke in loving and familiar 

 tones of her favourite saints as being friends of hers, 

 though in a higher station of life. Included in her 

 ideas of heaven was a very distinct belief that there 

 would be many beautiful flowers and birds, and the 

 pleasure with which she looked forward to seeing them 

 — in a humble way, as if she might be one of a crowd 

 in a Public Garden — gave her a quiet dignity and 

 charm, the equal of which I have seldom met. Her 

 brother, who was always marvelling at her, had, also, 

 some of her dignity, but a wider, freer view of things, 

 and the natural gaiety of a bird. 



The next morning, as soon as I woke in the fresh 

 clean bedroom they had made ready for me, I sprang 

 from my bed and went to look out of the window. 

 The dew was sparkling on the flowers, and their scent 

 came up sweet and strong ; a tubful of Mignonette, 

 at which the bees were busy, was especially fragrant. 

 As I looked, the tailor's sister came into the garden, 

 in a neat lavender-coloured print dress ; she carried 

 a missal in one hand, and a rosary swung in the other. 

 She stood opposite to her tombstone for a minute, her 

 lips moving softly, and then, after turning her pleasant 

 face towards the wealth of flowers about her, she bowed 

 deeply, as if saluting the morning. A little time later 

 I heard the gate of the front garden swing and shut, and 

 I knew she had gone to hear Mass. 



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