Stray Leaves from a Border Garden 
lassie introduced me, and Mistress Bell of her old-world 
courtesy so made me welcome, I was surprised when they 
came to tell me my carriage was ready for my homeward 
progress. 
But after that I came often in the Summer, when she 
joyed in her Roses and Mignonette ; in the Autumn, when 
she watched the dead leaves circle around the courtyard, 
and cherished the last lingering Asters ; in the Winter, when 
the window was closed and the Robin within sang her a 
song of Hope from the top of the cornice. She had flowers 
within, however ; she nursed Geraniums, and they flourished 
with her as though she had been an old cottager’s wife, 
blooming as though they knew they must be always ready 
to give her the pleasure of offering bloom and scented leaf 
to her visitors. But, alas ! the time came when no tale of 
uttermost woe could move her ; still and fair, with the beauty 
of youth come back to her aged face, she rested from the 
weary task of waiting Heaven had set her : “ Those also 
serve who only stand and wait.” 
Those she had comforted and befriended gathered beyond 
the gates by the old grey church to show him she had left 
that none would willingly omit the last honour they could 
render her. That was long years ago. I revisited Mirelaw 
the other day, and, going as a stranger, was shown the old 
house, its title to honour being : “ Yon’s whar oor gude 
Mistress Bell lived. We’ve no seen her like again, an’ we 
winna ! ” 
34 ° 
