THE LURE OF THE GARDEN 
inquiring too curiously as to their exact value; for 
at the worst they are apt to be as brief as they are 
strange. 
After the lovers’ transient occupancy is over, the seat 
will not stand empty long. Husband and wife come to 
it to discuss the manifold issues of their life, from the 
transplanting of a pansy bed to the building of a new 
home or the future of a child. Sitting thus, sipping 
their tea in the midst of the peaceful hush following so 
pleasantly upon the day’s labors and the jarring contact 
of butcher-boys and wearisome callers, disputes with 
the “boss” and futile struggles against predatory mil¬ 
lionaires, the two chat together, knitting up care’s rav¬ 
eled sleave with serenity renewed. 
“ Mary says she’s going to leave,” remarks Madam, 
alluding to the hardly attained cook. Elsewhere the 
statement might be tremulous with tragedy; but spoken 
comfortably from the garden chair, with its convenient 
arm upon which to set the tea-cup, the announcement is 
touched with a sense of humor. “What are mere 
cooks,” it seems to intimate, “ beside the comedy of 
their amazing tendency toward perpetual motion?” 
As for him, he tells her that the office force is to be 
increased at last, and informs her that Bennet has a 
head like a pin, and could n’t be trusted to turn a cor¬ 
ner; but the remark carries no sense of bitterness. 
Whatever subject is discussed, only round, pleasant 
words are spoken; and though the gossiping of these 
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