I am at home, too, and I find there something that I find nowhere else so well. Its charm is in the simpleness of its appeal:—
"Only the mightier movement sounds and passes,
Only winds and rivers—"
I bring back from it a memory of sunshine and grass, bird notes and running water, the broad realities of nature. Nay, more than a memory—a mood that holds—a certain poise of spirit that comes from a sense of the largeness and sweetness and sufficiency of the whole live, growing world. Spring grass—the rare fragrance of the spring air—is the call. The Yellow Valley holds the answer.
V
Larkspurs and Hollyhocks
"Jonathan, let's not have a garden."
"What'll we live on if we don't?"
"Oh, of course, I don't mean that kind of a garden,—peas and potatoes and things,— I mean flowers. Let's not have a flower garden."
"That seems easy enough to manage," he ruminated; "the hard thing would be to have one."