THE LURE OF THE GARDEN 
awake by the nightingales, singing through the long 
summer twilights. At the foot of the garden farthest 
from the house, the wall faced south, and was quite cov¬ 
ered behind plum- and apricot-trees neatly spread and 
tacked down with pieces of felt. Many a happy morn¬ 
ing and smashed finger testified to the earnest labor of 
our small hands, permitted to assist in subduing the 
natural inclination of those trees to stand on their own 
roots and maintain an independent existence. Next to 
the trees were rows of currant- and gooseberry-bushes, 
and there was a cucumber frame and a number of long 
narrow beds of lettuces, radishes, peas, and vegetable 
marrows, as well as two huge bushes of lavender, whose 
tiny fragrant blossoms we helped to gather. 
In front of the house was the flower garden, sepa¬ 
rated into two unequal parts by a gravel pathway that 
led from gate to door. Along this path went prim 
standard rose-trees presenting their bloom in the form 
of a bouquet, and standing very erect. A tall arbor-vitae 
hedge shielded the garden from the road that led to the 
village, and I never smell its pungent odor to this day 
without a drifting memory of that English garden. 
There was a little greenhouse, and in a corner of the 
lawn a table and comfortable seats where tea was served 
in fine weather. Many flowers grew in the long beds 
that ran all round this lawn, close to the walls, which 
were buried in ivy, and close to the house were rows of 
hollyhocks and larkspur in splendid clumps. In my 
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