Robin Hood's Barn 



seldom need armed intervention. There is a kind 

 of sanctity that guards the canterbury-bells, the 

 tall spires of foxglove and delphinium. They 

 have a dignity that repels the invader. To fell 

 them would be sacrilege indeed ! 



Once my guest has departed a keen shame sets 

 in. "The gift without the giver is bare." But I 

 plead, my complaint is that too much of me has 

 gone out with my gift. I think, however, of a 

 garden not far off. When I visit it I can scarcely 

 recognize it for what it is. Hens wallow out 

 their sun-baths in its midst or crane their necks 

 to crop a bloom. Children romp through it care- 

 lessly. There is scarcely a blossom in sight. And 

 yet I have never visited it without in some mirac- 

 ulous fashion leaving it full-handed. Sometimes 

 it is with great bunches of California poppies 

 which its owner knows I cannot grow in my clay 

 soil. Sometimes it is with mignonette. In my 

 father's day it was usually with some treasured 

 offering that had been grown almost as it were to 

 find pleasure in his sight. This garden yields 

 itself as the famous pitcher yielded milk, from 

 the source of hospitality abounding. 



[150] 



