Stray Leaves from a Border Garden 
always thick with leaves, but the fruit was small and seldom 
came to perfection. There were five or six tall Lime-trees 
on one side of the lawn, beneath which the Rector was wont 
to stroll with his cigar in the summer evenings, with his 
crutch-handled stick, contemplating his Beehives against the 
wall and listening with placid smile to the soothing hum of 
the Bees, the “ musical hounds of the fairy ring, who hunt 
for the golden dew ... in the green coverts of spring.” 
He was very fond, too, of Hyacinths and Tulips — he used 
to say he was quite a Dutchman in his love for the latter. 
But perhaps his favourite flowers were Lilies. There were 
great clumps of these heavy-scented tall lovelinesses in his 
garden-beds along the margin of the lawn, and under the 
red garden-wall were tall blue Monkshood and a border of 
pretty grey and golden Primroses. In the hot summer 
afternoons, how often have I found him sitting in his little 
greenhouse smoking. “ I smoke here for the benefit of the 
Green-fly,” he used to say, looking round upon his Begonias 
and Geraniums. There was something very restful about 
the old man among his flowers. Even his dogs partook of 
the character of the man ; they never routed in the flower- 
beds or scratched the lawns, and allowed the dingily-clad 
petitioners for help to come unmolested to the back door, 
and like a Scotch shepherd’s collie, the Rector’s rough grey 
terrier, Bounce, would escort his master to the church-door 
and wait by the entry into the vestry. Indeed there was a 
tradition that once upon a time, the door having been care- 
lessly shut, there was an irruption of Tyke and his com- 
panion Bounce into the very church to lie with eager topaz 
eyes at the foot of the pulpit. But although the garden 
was quiet, and seemed a very Eden of rest, it was not 
empty. During all the summer months it was the unselfish 
old man’s custom to invite a succession of visitors to enjoy 
the country sweetness. From dingy suburbs, from stuffy 
London backstreets they came — pale young clerks, who 
gained strength in country walks, or sometimes a husband 
and wife, reft with difficulty from their grinding household 
cares, to taste unruffled peace and plenty of good food. 
310 
