My Friends in their Gardens 
mornings when his sister, the bright, sunny old Irish- 
woman, who kept house for “ Brother,” as she always called 
him, would sally out with her scissors and basket and cull, 
with tender care, not to leave unsightly gaps, some flowers 
for decorating the parlour, or to send to some less happy 
soul who was without a garden. Or that the precept, 
“ Let nothing be wasted,” be obeyed, just before leaving the 
house on any journey she would carefully pick over the 
flowers in the sitting-room vases, and pack them up, to be 
sent elsewhere to rejoice some one else, rather than they 
should wilt unappreciated after she was gone. Dear old 
people, they could not bear to hear of any one wanting 
flowers ! To give and receive cuttings was their delight, 
and many were the plants which recalled to them some 
pleasant hour in some one else’s garden. They liked to 
feel they were linked to other people, perhaps far away, 
thus. And yet, small as was the circle of their interest, 
their ideas were not narrow. They had travelled so far 
and wide, they could scarcely look at plant or shrub without 
being reminded of either its original habitat or of some- 
thing resembling it. The stunted Rhododendrons by the 
gate recalled to the Major old haunts in the hills of India, 
where their splendid beauty was a thing to dream of. The 
Alpine-garden, as he proudly termed his corner full of 
stones and Alpine plants tenderly tucked in among the 
crevices, reminded him of Swiss cliffs and glaciers ! Each 
flower was to brother and sister a friend, whom they 
greeted joyfully with each recurring season, and made 
preparations to welcome suitably. Non-flower lovers felt 
themselves in a strange land, with strangers who talked a 
strange jargon, when wandering in that garden with its 
owners. But such true flower-lovers as were privileged 
to be introduced to his pets by the old Major never forgot 
the pleasant hour. And when, as will be, brother or sister 
is called away to a fairer land than ours, the one who is 
left will turn for consolation to the sweet children of Earth 
they planted together, and over which they used to join in 
rejoicing. 
305 
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