“At the top of the hill, there was a steep patch of turf, on which, as it seemed to me, grew every wild-flower that I knew. I used to call it (to myself), the Garden of the Lord.”
“Wasn’t that rather wicked?” said Phillis.
“Why, whose else was it, Phillis? Man had nothing to do with it.”
“A woman had, you mean,” said Phillis.
“No, I don’t.”
“Why, wasn’t you a woman?—leastways, a lady?”
“But I had not had the planting of it.”
“Oh, I didn’t know it was planted,” said Phillis. “You said the things growed wild.”
“Well, so they did—the Lord planted them. I used to stand there, looking at them, and smelling them, and inhaling the sweet, fresh air, till He seemed nearer to me there than anywhere else.”