In this loop, and all about the bases of the
dwelling and carriage-house the flowers rise in dense abundance, related
to one another with clever taste and with a happy care for a procession
of bloom uninterrupted throughout the season. Straightaway from the side
door, leaving the drive at a right angle, runs a short arbor of vines.
Four or five steps to the left of this bower a clump of shrubbery veils
the view from the street and in between shrubs and arbor lies a small
pool of water flowers and goldfish. On the arbor's right, in charming
privacy, masked by hollyhocks, dahlias and other tall-maidenly things,
lie beds of strawberries and lettuce and all the prim ranks and orders
of the kitchen garden.
Words are poor things to paint with; I wish I could set forth all in
one clear picture: lawn, drive, house, loop, lily pond, bower,
rose-bordered drive again (as the eye comes back) and flowers crowding
before, behind and beside you, some following clear out to the street
and beseeching you not to go so soon. Such is the garden, kept without
hired labor, of two soft-handed women; not beyond criticism in any of
its aspects but bearing witness to their love of nature, of beauty and
of home and of their wisdom and skill to exalt and refine them.
This competitor early won, I say, a leading prize, and in later seasons
easily held--still holds--a fine pre-eminence.
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