In the back of the garden I found a charming rustic arbour with seats around a little table. And here I sat down to listen to the morning concert, and I saw, cut or carved upon the table, this verse, which so pleased me that I copied it in my book:
A garden is a lovesome thing, God wot!
Rose plot,
Fringed pool,
Ferned grot—
The veriest school of peace; and yet
the fool
Contends that God is not—
Not God! in gardens? when the even
is cool?
Nay, but I have a sign,
'Tis very sure God walks in mine.
I looked about after copying this verse, and said aloud:
“I like this garden: I like these Vedders.”
And with that I had a moment of wild enthusiasm.
“I will come,” I said, “and buy a little garden next them, and bring Harriet, and we will live here always. What's a farm compared with a friend?”
But with that I thought of the Scotch preacher, and of Horace, and Mr. and Mrs. Starkweather, and I knew I could never leave the friends at home.
“It's astonishing how many fine people there are in this world,” I said aloud; “one can't escape them!”
“Good morning, David Grayson,” I heard some one saying, and glancing up I saw Mrs. Vedder at the doorway. “Are you hungry?”
“I am always hungry,” I said.