The Garden, You, And I Part 6

"Come out," he said, taking my hand in the same way that the Infant does when she wishes to lead the way to the discovery of the fairyland that lies beyond the meadows of the farm. So we sauntered out. Once under the sun, the same delicious thought occurred to each that, certain prudences having been seen to, we were for the time without responsibilities, and the fact made us laugh for the very freedom of it and pull one another hither and thither like a couple of children.

Meanwhile the word _knoll_ had not been uttered, but our feet were at once drawn in its direction by an irresistible force, and presently we found ourselves standing at the lower end of the ridge and looking up the slope!

"I wish we had a picture of it as it must have been before the land was cleared,--it would be a great help in replanting," I said; "it needs something dense and bold for a background to the rocks."

"The skeleton of the old barn on the other side spoils it; it ought to come down," was Bart's rejoinder. "It seems as if everything we wish to do hinges on some other thing."

This barn had been set back against the knoll so that from the house the hayloft window seemed like a part of a low shed. Certainly our forbears knew the ways of the New England wind very thoroughly, judging by the way they huddled their houses and outbuildings in hollows or under hillsides to avoid its stress. And when they couldn't do that, they turned sloping, humpbacked roofs toward the northeast to shed the snow and tempt the wind in its wild moods to play leapfrog and thus pa.s.s over.

Such a roof as this has the house at the next farm, and judging by the location of the old hay barn, and the lay of the road, it must have once belonged to this adjoining property rather than to ours.

Slowly we circled the knoll, dropped into the hollow, and stood upon the uneven floor of wide chestnut planks that was to be our camp. Other lodgers had this barn besides ourselves and, unlike ourselves, hereditary tenants. Swallows of steel-blue wings hung their nests in a whispering colony against the beams, a pair of gray squirrels arched their tails at us and chattering whisked up aloft, where they evidently have a family in the dilapidated pigeon cote, while among some cornstalks and other litter in the low earth cellar beneath we could hear the rustling doubtless born of the swift little feet of mice. (Yes, I know that it is a feminine quality lacking in me, but I have never yet been able to conjure up any species of fear in connection with these playful little rodents.)

The cots, table, chairs, and screens were as I had placed them several days ago; but it was not the interior that held us but the view looking eastward across the sunlit meadows. In fact this side of the barn had the wide openings of an observatory. The gnarled apple trees of the orchard still bore pink-and-white wreaths on the shady side, and the purling of bluebirds blended with the voice of the river that ran between the hills afar off--the same stream that further up country was to be pent between walls and prisoned to make a reservoir. Sitting there, we gazed upon the soft yet glowing beauty of it all, with never a thought of pick and spade, grub axe or crowbar, to pry between the rocks of the knoll to find the depth or quality of its soil or test the planting possibilities.

"Let us go up to the woods and see Blake; he wrote me that he is to be there to-day, and suggested we should both meet him and see the treasure-trove to be found there before the spring blossoms are quite shed," said Bart, suddenly, fumbling among the letters in his pocket; "and by the way, he said he would come back with us. He evidently forgets that we are not 'at home' to company!"

"But _The Man from Everywhere_ is not company. He is simply a permanent inst.i.tution and can go on dropping in as usual all summer if he likes.

Ann-stasia adores him, for did he not bring her a beautiful sandalwood rosary of carved beads from somewhere and a pair of real tortoise-sh.e.l.l combs not two months ago? And of course Maria Maxwell will not object; why should she? he will come and go as usual, and she will hardly know that he is in the house."

Barney harnessed the mild-faced horse of our neighbour's lending to that most comfortable of all vehicles, a buggy with an ample box behind and a top that can be dropped and made into a deep pocket to hold gleanings, or raised as a s.h.i.+eld from sun and rain. Ah! dear Mrs. Evan, is there anything that turns a sober, settled married couple backward to the enchanted "engaged" region like driving away through the spring lanes in a buggy pulled by a horse who has had nature-loving owners, so that he seems to know by intuition when to pause and when it would be most acceptable to his pa.s.sengers to have him wander from the beaten track and browse among the tender wayside gra.s.ses that always seem so much more tempting than any pasture grazing?

As you will infer from this, Romeo is not only of a gentle, meditative disposition, but his harness is dest.i.tute of a check rein, overdraw, or otherwise.

"Have you put in the trowels?" I asked, as we drove out the gate, the reins hanging so loosely from between Bart's knees, as he lit his pipe, that it was by mere chance that Romeo took the right turn.

"No, I never thought of them; this is merely a prospecting trip. Did you put in the lunch?"

I was obliged to confess that I had not, but later on a box of sandwiches was found under the seat in company with Romeo's nose-bag of oats, this indication being that, as Barney alone knew directly of our destination, he must have informed Anastasia, who took pity, regarding us, as she does, as a cross between lunatics and the babes in the woods.

We chose byways, and only crossed the macadamized highroad, that haunt of automobiles, once, and after an hour's sauntering crossed the river and drove into the woodlots to the north of it, now the property of the water company, who have already posted warning to trespa.s.sers. We straightway began to trespa.s.s, seeing _The Man from Everywhere_ on horseback coming down to meet us.

Without an apparent change of soil or alt.i.tude, the scenery at once grew more bold and dramatic.

"What is it?" I said. "We have been driving through lanes lined by dogwood and yet that little tree below and the scrubby bit of hillside make a more perfect picture than any we have seen!"

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE PICTORIAL VALUE OF EVERGREENS.]

Bart, who had left the buggy and was walking beside it with _The Man_, who had dismounted and led his nag, turned and looked backward, but did not answer.

"It is the evergreens that give it the quality," said _The Man_, "even though they are only those stiff little Noah's-ark cedars. I notice it far and wide, wherever I go; a landscape is never monotonous so long as there is a pine, spruce, hemlock, or bit of a cedar to bind it together.

I believe that is why I am never content for long in the land of palms!"

"I love evergreens in winter, but I've never thought much about them in the growing leafy season; they seem unimportant then," I said.

"Unimportant or not, they are still there. Look at that wall of trees rising across the river! Every conceivable tint of green is there, besides shades of pink and lavender in leaf case and catkin, but what dominates and translates the whole? The great hemlocks on the crest and the dark pointed cedars off on the horizon where the woodland thins toward the pastures. Whether you separate them or not, they are there.

People are only just beginning to understand the value of evergreens in their home gardens, both as windbreaks and backgrounds. No, I don't mean stark, isolated specimens, stiff as Christmas trees. You have a magnificent chance to use them on that knoll of yours that you are going to restore!"

As he was speaking I thought Bart paid very scant attention, but following his pointing finger I at once saw what had absorbed him. On the opposite side of the river, extending into the brush lots, was a knoll the size and counterpart of ours, even in the way that it lay by the compa.s.s, only this was untouched, as nature planned it, and the model for our restoration.

"Do you clear the land as far back as this?" Bart asked of _The Man_, eagerly.

"Yes, not for the sake of the land, but for the boulders and loose rock on those ledges; all the rock hereabout will be little enough for our masonry!"

"Then," said Bart, "I'm going to transplant the growth on this knoll, root and branch, herb and shrub, moss and fern, to our own, if it takes me until Christmas! It isn't often that a man finds an ill.u.s.trated plan with all the materials for carrying it out under his hand for merely the taking. There are enough young hemlocks up there to windbreak our whole garden. The thing I'm not sure about is just when it will do to begin the transplanting. Meanwhile I'll make a list of the plants we know that we can add to as others develop and blossom."

So he set to work on his list then and there, _The Man from Everywhere_ helping, because he can name a plant from its leaves or even the twigs.

I said that I would write to you _at once_ and ask you or Evan to tell us about the best way to transplant all the wild things, except woody shrubs and trees, because we know it's best to wait for those until leaf fall. But as it turns out, I've waited six days--oh! such aggravating days when there is so much to decide and do!

That afternoon _The Man_ rode home with us, as a matter of course, we quite forgetting that instead of late dinner, as usual, the meal would be tea, as the Infant and Maria Maxwell are to dine now at one! As a shower threatened, it seemed much more natural for us to turn into the house than the camp, and before I knew how it happened I was sitting at the head of my own table serving soup instead of tea! I dared not look at Maria, but as the meal was nearly ended she remarked demurely, looking out of the west window to where the shower was pa.s.sing off slantwise, leaving a glorious sunset trail in its wake, "Wouldn't you like to have your coffee in camp, as the rain forced you to take dinner indoors?" by which I knew that Maria would not allow us to lose sight of our outdoor intentions.

Bart laughed, and _The Man_, gazing around the table innocently said, "Oh, has _it_ begun, and am I intruding and breaking up plans? Why didn't you tell me?"

So we went out through the sweet-smelling twilight, or rather the glow that comes before it, and as we idly sipped the coffee, lo and behold, the old farm lay before us--a dream picture painted by the twilight! The little window-panes, iridescent with age and bulged into odd shapes by yielding sashes, caught the sunset hues and turned to fire opals; the light mist rising over the green meadows where the flowers now slept with heads bent and eyes closed lent the green and pearl tints of those mysterious gems to which drops of rain or dew strung everywhere made diamond settings.

"By Jove!" exclaimed Bart, "how beautiful the Opie farm looks to-night!

If a real-estate agent could only get a photograph of what we see, we should soon have a neighbour to rescue the place!"

"You mustn't call it the Opie farm any more; it is Opal Farm from to-night!" I cried, "and no one shall buy it unless they promise to leave in the old windows and let the meadow and crab orchard stay as they are, besides giving me right of way through it quite down to the river woods!"

But to get back by this circuitous route to the threatened danger with which I opened this letter--

The postman whistled, as he has an alluring way of doing when he brings the evening mail, always hoping that some one will come out for a bit of evening gossip, in which he is rarely disappointed.

We all started to our feet, but Maria, whose special duty it had become to look over the mail, distanced us all by taking a short cut, regardless of wet gra.s.s.

Talk branched into divers pleasant ways, and we had almost forgotten her errand when she returned and, breaking abruptly into the conversation, said to Bart, "Sorry to interrupt, but the postman reports that there are three large crates of live stock down at the station, and the agent says will you please send for them to-night, as he doesn't dare leave them out, there are so many strangers about, and they will surely stifle if he crowds them into the office!"

"Live stock!" exclaimed Bart, "I'm sure I've bought nothing!" Then, as light broke in his brain,--"Maybe it's that setter pup that Truesdale promised me as soon as it was weaned, which would be about now!"

"Would a setter pup come in three crates?" inquired _The Man_, solemnly.

"It must be live plants and not live stock!" I said, coming to Bart's rescue, "for Aunt Lavinia Cortright wrote me last week that she was sending me some of her prize pink Dahlias, and some gladioli bulbs!"

"Possibly these might fill three large cases!" laughed Bart, in his turn.

"Why not see if any of those letters throw light upon the mystery, and then I'll help 'hook up,' as I suppose Barney has gone home, and we will bring up the crates even if they contain crocodiles!" said _The Man_, cheerfully. Complications always have an especially cheering effect upon him, I've often noticed.

The beams of a quarter moon were picturesque, but not a satisfactory light by which to read letters, especially when under excitement, so Bart brought out a carriage lantern with which we had equipped our camp, and proceeded to sort the mail, tossing the rejected letters into my lap.

Suddenly he paused at one, extra bulky and bearing the handwriting of his mother, weighed it on the palm of his hand, and opened it slowly.

From it fell three of the yellow-brown papers upon which receipts for expressage are commonly written; I picked them up while Bart read slowly--

"MY DEAR SON,

"We were most glad to hear through daughter Mary of your eminently sensible and frugal plan for pa.s.sing your summer vacation in the improvement of your land without the expense of travel.

"Wis.h.i.+ng to give you some solid mark of our approval, as well as to contribute what must be a material aid to your income, father and I send you to-day, by express, three crates of Hens--one of White Leghorns, one of Plymouth Rocks, and one of Brown Dorkings, a male companion accompanying each crate, as I am told is usual. We did not select an incubator, thinking you might have some preference in the matter, but it will be forthcoming when your decision is made.