"Then, too, we never have any more than we can bear--nothing that has
not been borne before, and bravely at that. There isn't a new sorrow in
the world--they're all old ones--but we can all find new happiness if we
look in the right way."
The voice had a full music, instinct with tenderness, and gradually
Ruth's troubled spirit was eased. "I don't know what's the matter with
me," she said, meditatively, "for I'm not morbid, and I don't have the
blues very often, but almost ever since I've been at Aunt Jane's, I've
been restless and disturbed. I know there's no reason for it, but I
can't help it."
"Don't you think that it's because you have nothing to do? You've always
been so busy, and you aren't used to idleness."
"Perhaps so. I miss my work, but at the same time, I haven't sense
enough to do it."
"Poor child, you're tired--too tired to rest."
"Yes, I am tired," answered Ruth, the tears of nervous weakness coming
into her eyes.
"Come out into the garden."
Miss Ainslie drew a fleecy shawl over her shoulders and led her guest
outdoors. Though she kept pace with the world in many other ways, it
was an old-fashioned garden, with a sun-dial and an arbour, and little
paths, nicely kept, that led to the flower beds and circled around them.
There were no flowers as yet, except in a bed of wild violets under
a bay window, but tiny sprigs of green were everywhere eloquent with
promise, and the lilacs were budded.
"That's a snowball bush over there," said Miss Ainslie, "and all
that corner of the garden will be full of roses in June. They're
old-fashioned roses, that I expect you wouldn't care for-blush and
cinnamon and sweet briar--but I love them all. That long row is half
peonies and half bleeding-hearts, and I have a bed of columbines under a
window on the other side of the house. The mignonette and forget-me-nots
have a place to themselves, for I think they belong together--sweetness
and memory.
"There's going to be lady-slippers over there," Miss Ainslie went on,
"and sweet william. The porch is always covered with morning-glories--I
think they're beautiful and in that large bed I've planted poppies,
snap-dragon, and marigolds. This round one is full of larkspur and
bachelor's buttons. I have phlox and petunias, too--did you ever see a
petunia seed?"
Ruth shook her head.
"It's the tiniest thing, smaller than a grain of sand. When I plant
them, I always wonder how those great, feathery petunias are coming out
of those little, baby seeds, but they come. Over there are things that
won't blossom till late--asters, tiger-lilies and prince's feather. It's
going to be a beautiful garden, deary. Down by the gate are my sweet
herbs and simples--marjoram, sweet thyme, rosemary, and lavender. I love
the lavender, don't you?"