Remembrance of all those dear other gardens which I have come to know,
and in whose beauties I am coming to have a share; thoughts of all those
dear other gardeners upon whom, as upon me, the miracle of the seed has
laid a spell from which they can never escape.

VI

The Farm Sunday

I have never been able to discover why it is that things always happen
Sunday morning. We mean to get to church. We speak of it almost every
Sunday, unless there is a steady downpour that puts it quite out of the
question. But, somehow, between nine and ten o'clock on a Sunday morning
seems to be the farm's busiest time. If there are new broods of
chickens, they appear then; if there is a young calf coming, it is his
birthday; if the gray cat--an uninvited resident of the barn--must go
forth on marauding expeditions, he chooses this day for his evil work,
and the air is rent with shrieks of robins, or of cat-birds, or of
phoebes, and there is a wrecked nest, and scattered young ones,
half-fledged, that have to be gathered into a basket and hung up in the
tree again by our united efforts. And always there is the same
conversation:

"Well, what about church?"

"Church! It's half-past ten now."

"We can't do it. Too bad!"

"Now, if it hadn't been for that cat!"--or that hen--or that calf!

There are many Sunday morning stories that might be told, but one must
be told.

It was a hot, still Sunday in July. The hens sought the shade early, and
stood about with their beaks half open and a distant look in their eyes,
as if they saw you but chose to look just beyond you. It always
irritates me to see the hens do that. It makes me feel hotter. Such a
day it was. But things on the farm seemed propitious, and we said at
breakfast that we would go.

"I've just got to take that two-year-old Devon down to the lower
pasture," said Jonathan, "and then I'll harness. We ought to start
early, because it's too hot to drive Kit fast."

"Do you think you'd better take the cow down this morning?" I said,
doubtfully. "Couldn't you wait until we come back?"

"No; that upper pasture is getting burned out, and she ought to get into
some good grass this morning. I meant to take her down last night."

"Well, do hurry." I still felt dubious.

"Oh, it's only five minutes' walk down the road," said Jonathan easily.
"I'm all ready for church, except for these shoes. I'll have the
carriage at the door before you're dressed."

I said no more, but