HOUSE AND GARDEN 
13 
April, 1912 
The foxgloves waved their stately heads above the child, even the lilies 
leaned over her 
cool when it splashes over the rocks ? And you can learn all about 
geography—I mean islands and isthmuses and peninsulas—when 
you go in paddling. 
What a pity! I forgot your skirts were so long. Would you 
get them wet? Perhaps you would. 
Oh, thank you. Are you sure it is polite?—You really wouldn’t 
mind if I went in paddling alone?—Yes, I always do— 
Is it as late as that? We must go back. I wish we had brought 
some cookies. Perhaps we can find some early pears. You can 
never guess why, when I’m in Grandmother’s dining-room I 
think of the garden most always. 
Flowers on the table? Yes, 
but not that—sometimes it’s cur¬ 
rants, sometimes it’s pears stewed 
in molasses—or early it’s straw¬ 
berries and now it’s blackberries 
—and sometimes I have to come 
out and get three peach leaves to 
put in the milk that Grandmother 
is heating for the custard. 
Then on Sundays I think of 
the garden. Sundays is when 
Grandfather, who is dead, has his 
blossoms. We come out here and 
pick the very best flowers we can 
find and we take them in the 
house where Grandmother fills 
the tin crosses half full of moss 
and water, and then we put the 
flowers in those until they look 
like rainbow crosses. Then we 
go to church—early. Partly be¬ 
cause Harry Clay—that’s the 
white horse—goes slowly (he’s 
old like Grandmother), but the 
second “because” is that we have 
to go to the burying-ground first. 
That’s where people get planted 
before they grow to Heaven. 
We stop on the road and put 
the reins through a hole in the 
post—but Harry Clay would 
stand all right if we didn’t—he likes standing best, you know. 
Our little dead yard is near to the road with an evergreen 
hedge about it. Grandmother squeezes in through a hole in the 
hedge and I squeeze in easier after her. Then she puts the 
crosses on the graves. There are others besides Grandfather’s, 
but she kneels down by his and so I do too, and I say “Our 
Father” and “Now I lay me down to sleep” to myself, but I get 
through before Grandmother does. When she is ready we go 
back to the wagon and drive a little way further to church. 
Grandmother ties Harry Clay again, under a shed this time, 
and while the bell rings just a little, we walk up a path and go 
in to church. 
I always wear a very stiff white dress and a wdiite hat and I 
have one a Roman sash. That is a sash that is of many colors like 
Joseph’s coat in the Bible was. I don’t think it’s pretty. Other 
little girls have them all pink or blue or all red. Every Sunday 
I say to Grandmother: “Grandmother, must I wear my Roman 
sash?” and every Sunday I wear it. 
Church is long. I like the music^—the birds and the locusts 
sing outside—the fans flutter—I get a little sleepy and I’m afraid 
I’ll drop my five cents. Yes, I do love God and I try to be 
good—I wish my Roman sash was all pink! 
Then church gets over and we go out. Grandmother talks to 
ladies and then we go home. 
Now we’ll get the big bunch of flowers. 
You hold them, please, while I get the berries. Oh! here are 
some plums on the ground. Grandmother doesn't mind if we 
shake the tree a little. 
Now we must shut the gate again. Down that little path is 
where the cows come up from the road at night. The cows 
made that path, but I think the fairies helped. 
Won’t you come into the house? Up there is where I sleep 
at night, and I can hear the crickets cricketing out here. Those 
green shutters belong to the parlor. The parlor has a carpet 
with big rings on it that you can play marbles in on rainy days. 
I help Grandmother dust the parlor in the mornings. There is 
a weather thing with a little man and woman, and the lady goes 
in the house when it rains and the man comes out, for it’s politer 
(Continued on page 80) 
In the shaded corners of the garden and under the fruit trees, the flowers that like the shade grow in 
profusion 
