A GARDEN DIARY 81 
be replenished, I am assured, once in twenty- 
four hours. Her garden lies in the heart of a 
big pinewood, and the fire has its home in an 
open lodge or gazebo, supported by larch poles, 
without door or window, but made possible to 
sit in in cold weather, by being match-boarded 
upon two sides, the south and south-east sides 
alone being widely open. Until one has actually 
tried, it is difficult to believe how comfortable 
one can be in such a spot even on a very frosty 
evening, both feet extended to the blaze, and 
a rug tucked round one to keep off stray 
draughts. As daylight wanes the red glow 
increases, lighting up the big pine trunks, and 
awakening in one’s mind vagrant suggestions 
of camp fires, and forest settlements, while at 
other times it has the practical advantage of 
making many garden operations possible which, 
without such a speedy refuge to fly to, would 
in this chill-evoking climate of ours scarce be 
practicable. 
It is odd what minute deviations from the 
everyday stir the mind, and help it to shake 
off that crust of routine, which it ought to be 
the aim of all of us to get rid of. In these 
days too, one is thankful to anything that gives 
a stir to existence, apart from the weary news- 
papers. It is, I think, one of the few merits 
of winter that spots, at other times tame to 
flatness, seem in fierce, or exceptionally cold 
G 
