The sun was nearly down, and the long shadows from the trees cut the lawn into alternate aisles of light and shade. The afternoon was almost gone, and I saw that I had no time to lose. Since the first object of my search was a rose of Sharon, it was evident that it must begin in the garden and I made my way into it through an opening in the hedge. The hedge was very close and thick, though spraggly and badly kept, and must have been planted many years before. The garden, as I have said, was a desolate place enough, but not without evidences of ancient beauty. Just inside the hedge was a perfect tangle of dead flower-stocks of hollyhocks with the fresh new plants springing at their base, of phlox and pinks and candytuft. Inside this, and around the whole garden ran a broad path, grass-grown and sadly in need of repair, while two narrower paths extended at right angles across the garden, meeting at a large depressed circle in the centre, which had once evidently been the basin of a fountain. But no fountain had played there for many years, and the basin was overgrown with weeds. At the corners against the hedge were masses of shrubbery, and the wall at the farther side was overgrown with ivy.
I realized that I needed a guide in this wilderness, and set out in search of Abner, whom I finally found in the kitchen garden, busily engaged in digging up some horse-radish. He heard me coming, and stood up, leaning on his spade, as I drew near.
“Oh, Mr. Smith,” I began, “is there a rose of Sharon anywhere about the place?”
“A rose o’ Sharon? Why, yes, miss; bless your heart, they’s a dozen o’ them, I reckon.”
“A dozen!” Here was a complication, indeed! “But isn’t there some particular one,” I persisted, “which is larger than all the rest, or which is peculiarly situated, or which grandaunt was particularly fond of, or something of that sort?”
He scratched his head in perplexity, while I watched him in a very agony of excitement and suspense.
“Well, miss,” he answered slowly, at last, “they is one th’ missus used t’ think a good deal of, though lately she didn’t take much interest in anything about th’ place—just let it run along anyhow. It’s about the biggest one we’ve got, an’ it’s set in a kind o’ rockery over there in the garding near the wall. Mebbe that’s the one you mean.”
“Maybe it is,” I said, controlling myself as well as I could, for my heart leaped at his words. “Will you show it to me, Mr. Smith?”
“Why, of course,” he said good-naturedly. “An’, miss, my name’s Abner, an’ I like t’ be called by it,” and shouldering his spade, he hobbled away toward the garden. I could have flown, but I managed somehow to accommodate my pace to his.
Near the wall which bounded the garden on that side, a somewhat elaborate rockery had been laid out years before, with stones of different colours carefully arranged in rows, after a fashion once thought beautiful. Vines were running over them, myrtle principally, and shrubs of various kinds were growing among them; some had been misplaced and others buried in the ground; the whole forming a kind of tangle which proved that however much grandaunt had once thought of the spot, Abner was right in saying that she had completely neglected it in recent years.