"We have an old country place," he was saying; "it belonged to my
grandfather. My grandfather came by it when the little town was very
small indeed, so he built an old-fashioned stone house and surrounded
it with large grounds." He was seeing the stone house and the large
grounds with that new inner observation which he had just discovered,
and he was trying to the best of his ability to tell what he saw. After
a little he spoke more rhythmically. Many might have thought he spoke
sentimentally, because with feeling; but in reality he was merely
trying with great earnestness for expression. A jarring word would have
brought him back to his everyday mood, but for the time being he was
wrapt in what he saw. This is a condition which all writers, and some
lovers, will recognise. "Now the place is empty--except in
summer--except that we have an old woman who lives tucked away in one
corner of it. I lived there one summer just after I finished college.
Outside my window there was an apple tree that just brushed against
the ledge; there were rose vines, the climbing sort, on the wall; and
then, too, there was a hickory tree that towered 'way over the roof. In
the front yard is what is known all over town as the 'big tree,' a
silver maple, at least twice as tall as the house. It is so broad that
its shade falls over the whole front of the place. In the back is an
orchard of old apple trees, and trellises of big blue grapes. On one
side is a broad lawn, at the back of which is one of the good
old-fashioned flower gardens that does one good to look at. There are
little pink primroses dotting the sod, sweet-william, lavender,
nasturtiums, sweet peas, hollyhocks, bachelor's buttons, portulaca, and
a row of tall sunflowers, the delight of a sleepy colony of hens. I
learned all the flowers that summer." He clasped his hands comfortably
back of his head and looked at her. She was gazing out over the Bad
Lands to the East. "In the very centre, as a sort of protecting nurse
to all the littler flowers," he went on, "is a big lilac bush, and
there the bees and humming birds are thick on a warm spring day. There
are plenty of birds too, but I didn't know so many of them. They
nested everywhere--in the 'big tree,' the orchard, the evergreens, the
hedges, and in the long row of maple trees with trunks as big as a
barrel and limbs that touch across the street."
"It must be beautiful!" said the girl quietly without looking around.
Then he began to "suppose." This, as every woman knows, is dangerous
business.
"It was beautiful," said he. "I can't tell you about it. The words
don't seem to fit some way. I wish you could see it for yourself. I
know you'd enjoy it. I always wanted some one with me to enjoy it too.
Suppose some way we were placed so we could watch the year go by in
those deep windows. First there is the spring and the birds and the
flowers, all of which I've been talking about. Then there is the
summer, when the shades are drawn, when the shadows of the roses wave
slowly across the curtains, when the air outside quivers with heat, and
the air inside tastes like a draught of cool water. All the bird songs
are stilled except that one little fellow still warbles, swaying in
the breeze on the tiptop of the 'big tree,' his notes sliding down the
long sunbeams like beads on a golden thread. Then we would read
together, in the half-darkened 'parlour,' something not very deep, but
beautiful, like Hawthorne's stories; or we would together seek for
these perfect lines of poetry which haunt the memory. In the evening we
would go out to hear the crickets and the tree toads, to see the night
breeze toss the leaves across the calm face of the moon, to be silenced
in spirit by the peace of the stars. Then the autumn would come. We
would taste the 'Concords' and the little red grapes and the big red
grapes. We would take our choice of the yellow sweetings, the hard
white snow apples, or the little red-cheeked fellows from the west
tree. And then, of course, there are the russets! Then there are the
pears, and all the hickory nuts which rattle down on us every time the
wind blows. The leaves are everywhere. We would rake them up into big
piles, and jump into them, and 'swish' about in them. How bracing the
air is! How silvery the sun! How red your cheeks would get! And think
of the bonfires!"