Stray Leaves from a Border Garden 
a rickety wooden stair in a secluded court, Boy and I 
travelling after Teapots. Yes, there they were in endless 
array, the dear tiny brown glazed teapots, with bowl and 
cream jug to match, so ideal for dolls’ tea-parties or the 
elders’ early breakfast-tray. Shelves upon shelves of them, 
it was a veritable nightmare of teapots. A hamperful of 
charming scarlet hens, purporting to be money-boxes, 
caught Boy’s eye, and a basketful of earthenware apples of 
most tempting reddish-yellow, likewise penny-savers. There 
were also endless rows of pale yellow pudding dishes, which, 
when I admired, I was told were bought by the fisher- 
wives, “ the leddies they want white. But the yellow aye 
last the longest.” As we stood in open-mouthed specula- 
tion and wondering surprise as to the need for so many 
teapots, our guide cheerfully added : “We sell a goodish 
ew in the summer for seaside lodgers and picnic-parties, 
also to the Dutch merchant-ships.” Surely a very quaint 
cargo. But not so odd as the curly china poodle-dogs of 
Kirkcaldy over the water, which are taken to Holland by 
many a Dutch sea-captain as presents from Scotland for 
their vrows. But I found there was a fashion in curly 
poodles as in everything else ; the real old variety is hard to 
get. One is put off with dogs with lockets ! 
March 21. — Easterday in Devon. So bright and sunny, 
all the hedgerow leaves in the little lane down which we 
went to church covered with white dust, which even 
seemed to have alighted on the blackthorn, so white w r as it 
with profuse bloom. In the cottage gardens Golden Rush 
Jonquils coming out, and Primroses. 
The quaintest little brown barn of a church with a 
thatched roof and tiny w r ooden belfry, old carved pews 
decked with moss and bunches of primroses. Two or 
three real dried palm branches mixed with soft catkins, 
the English Palm or Gosling, as it is sometimes called, 
with a few bunches of daffodils, and on the communion- 
table a tight nosegay of hothouse Calla lilies, evidently the 
pride of the churchdeckers’ hearts. Sunday-clad folks with 
flowers in their hands coming down the lanes and passing 
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