Robin Hood's Barn 



pitcher to fortify it against the summer heat. 

 Many a time during the day, moreover, its droop- 

 ing stalk would reveal the need of further sus- 

 tenance. But when at last it had unfurled its 

 crimson banner in the shade of our old maple, 

 as if indeed it had sought there its own habita- 

 tion, we had again achieved suqcess. Less ardu- 

 ous, though not in transportation, was our garden 

 of fall asters. The most beautiful of these. Aster 

 Novae Anghae, only whose full title my father 

 thought was consonant with its dignity, we placed 

 at the rear, a background of rich purple, its flow- 

 ers folding at dusk their petals over starry yellow 

 centers. And before them, the wild white aster 

 that in autumn silvers our fields like hoar frost. 

 Then at last content with present store we laid 

 in a treasure for the coming year; Aquilegia 

 Canadensis, the scarlet columbine, and the ferns 

 surrounding it, "little polys," as my father affec- 

 tionately called them, moved together that they 

 might not seem incongruous among our more 

 pretentious pm-chases ; Iris Prismatica that grows 

 so thickly through our open swamps that it lends 

 them in its season violet shadows ; sweetbriar from 

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