THROUGH LIBRARY WINDOWS 27 



o'clocks are out, a homely flower but I love 

 them, they make such a splash of color close to 

 the kitchen door, and the whole house senses 

 their sweetness at the tea hour. That group of 

 lilies, so like white sentinels that have strayed 

 through the gates of paradise, occupy the best 

 spot in the garden, and the spot never looked 

 nicer and the lilies never sweeter; place and 

 product fit. "Those vulgar red peonies," so 

 some one heartlessly said the other day. I re- 

 buked them by saying, "Nay, not so, not vulgar 

 but beautiful and full of color, and because 

 Mother loved them, they are very dear to me 1" 

 Their red is intense, and I think it is the 

 people's color as it is nature's pet. Eugene 

 Field was asked his favorite color and replied, 

 "It don't make any difference if it is only red." 

 The hollyhocks have unfolded their silken buds 

 and the whole long stalks are things of beauty. 

 Sweet peas in that patch yonder are nodding in 

 the breeze like little ships rocking in the harbor, 

 or, as Shelley says, "Winged and on tip-toe as 

 for flight," but worth their weight in gold as 

 a breakfast bouquet. What a kingly luxury to 

 wander about one's garden and receive homage 

 in nods and winks and rustles and perfumes. 

 One cannot worry much in a garden, for there 

 is always much to do, and what you have done 



