Robin Hood's Barn 



my little cedar. It has grown considerably. It 

 has even had the dignity of its first bird's nest, 

 a song-sparrow's built so snugly in its lower 

 branches. But its stiff small spire is still a matter 

 of personal pride, bringing back to me acutely, 

 the day when under a hot fog I panted with it 

 across a waste of meadows. When, moreover, the 

 small red bells of the columbines appear beneath 

 the maple tree, I can see the shelving crevice from 

 which we took them, my father loosening them 

 tenderly with his battered trowel and tucking 

 them into the box which had brought home so 

 many treasures. 



There is color in the garden now, but the love- 

 liest is still the remnant of old days when it was 

 selected and transported by one who never saw 

 its richer glories. 



[244] 



