hrusts a rugged shoulder into the sky; and midway between is
the Golden Gate, where sea mists love to linger. From the poppy field we
often see the shimmering blue of the Pacific beyond, and the busy ships
that go for ever out and in.

"We shall have great joy in our poppy field," said Bess. "Yes," said I;
"how the poor city folk will envy when they come to see us, and how we
will make all well again when we send them off with great golden
armfuls!"

"But those things will have to come down," I added, pointing to numerous
obtrusive notices (relics of the last tenant) displayed conspicuously
along the boundaries, and bearing, each and all, this legend:

"_Private Grounds_. _No Trespassing_."

"Why should we refuse the poor city folk a ramble over our field,
because, forsooth, they have not the advantage of our acquaintance?"

"How I abhor such things," said Bess; "the arrogant symbols of power."

"They disgrace human nature," said I.

"They shame the generous landscape," she said, "and they are abominable."

"Piggish!" quoth I, hotly. "Down with them!"

We looked forward to the coming of the poppies, did Bess and I, looked
forward as only creatures of the city may look who have been long denied.
I have forgotten to mention the existence of a house above the poppy
field, a squat and wandering bungalow in which we had elected to forsake
town traditions and live in fresher and more vigorous ways. The first
poppies came, orange-yellow and golden in the standing grain, and we went
about gleefully, as though drunken with their wine, and told each other
that the poppies were there. We laughed at unexpected moments, in the
midst of silences, and at times grew ashamed and stole forth secretly to
gaze upon our treasury. But when the great wave of poppy-flame finally
spilled itself down the field, we shouted aloud, and danced, and clapped
our hands, freely and frankly mad.

And then came the Goths. My face was in a lather, the time of the first
invasion, and I suspended my razor in mid-air to gaze out on my beloved
field. At the far end I saw a little girl and a little boy, their arms
filled with yellow spoil. Ah, thought I, an unwonted benevolence
burgeoning, what a delight to me is their delight! It is sweet that
children should pick poppies in my field. All summer shall they pick
poppies in my field. But they must be little children, I added as an
afterthought, and they must pick from the lower end--th