A GARDEN WITH HOUSE ATTACHED

BY

SARAH WARNER BROOKS

AUTHOR OF "MY FIRE OPAL," "POVERTY KNOB," ETC

"I never had any desire so strong, and so like to covetousness, as that one which I have had always, that I might be master at least of a small house, and a large garden."—Abraham Cowley.

BOSTON: RICHARD G. BADGER
The Gorham Press
1904

Copyright 1904 by Sarah Warner Brooks
All rights reserved

PRINTED AT
THE GORHAM PRESS
BOSTON, U. S. A.

TO MY SUMMER CHILD

CONTENTS

A GARDEN WITH HOUSE ATTACHED

CHAPTER I

"A Garden with House Attached"

When, by an unlooked-for sequence of events, I became manager of "The Garden with House Attached" (as an important preliminary) along with "The Third Son"[1] I went over from Cambridge to take account of its possibilities. And here be it stated that from the time of his first trousers "The Third Son" had been my assistant gardener; and in all my horticultural enterprises, might still be counted in as "aider and abettor."

"Mother," said this astute young person—on our return from this inspection—"It is a big job; but there is yet another week of my vacation. Let us make a beginning."

In shaping the ground plan of this quaint old garden, its long-dead projectors had shown a capability which came within an ace of genius itself! Hence, so far as laying out went, there was absolutely no call for improvement.

All had been so well and effectively outlined, that the landscape gardener himself must have approved.

The long South walk—leading past the front door of the "Mansion House"—passing orchard and kitchen garden on its way up the long, gradual ascent towards the western boundary of the estate, and then turning a corner, followed the low stone wall hedged with sturdy purple lilacs (free to all the country round) and making a second turn, skirted the low northern ledge, where in June the locust hangs its tassels of perfumed snow, and, in autumn time, the wild barberry perfects its coral clusters. There, all summer long, the wind blows cool and sweet, and, resting on low, mossy boulders, you may sight, on the left, Middlesex Fells, and, across the blue distance, glimpse Tufts College on its broad, grassy hill, with the Mystic River (if the tide be in) creeping leisurely between you and that ancient seat of learning.

Following the walk down the lazy declivity, you take a turn with it beneath two aged pines, with the big lily-of-the-valley patch nestling in their shade; and (hard by) the well-appointed triangular flower plot, from time immemorial "bedded out" with "The Lady's" house plants. Turning on your track, you take a stroll through "The Lover's Walk"—a little,