were a
thoroughly happy couple.

CHAPTER XXXII.

AT MRS. CHIGWIN'S COTTAGE.

Birchmead in the summer and autumn is a very different place from the
Birchmead which Alan Walcott saw when he came down to visit his aunt in
the early days of February. Then the year had not begun to move; at most
there was a crocus or a snowdrop in the sheltered corners of Mrs.
Chigwin's garden; and, if it had not been for a wealth of holly round
the borders of the village green, the whole place would have been
destitute of color.

But, in the summer, all is color and brightness. The blue sky, the
emerald lawns, the dull red earth, the many-hued masses of foliage, from
the dark copper beech to the light greys of the limes and poplars,
mingle their broad effects upon their outspread canvas of Nature, and in
the foreground a thousand flowers glow warmly from the well-kept gardens
or the fertile meadow-side. Nowhere do the old-fashioned flowers of the
field and garden seem to flourish more luxuriantly than at Birchmead, or
come to fuller bloom, or linger for a longer season. Here, as elsewhere
in the south of England, June and July are the richest months for
profusion and color; but the two months that follow July may be made,
with very little trouble, as gay and varied in their garden-show, if not
so fragrant and exquisite. The glory of the roses and lilies has
departed, but in their place is much to compensate all simple and
unsophisticated lovers of their mother-earth.

In the second week of October, Mrs. Chigwin was at work in her garden,
with her dress tucked up, a basket in her left hand, and a large pair of
scissors in her right. Every flower that had begun to fade, every
withered leaf and overgrown shoot fell before those fatal shears, and
was caught in the all-devouring basket; and from time to time she bore a
fresh load of snippets to their last resting-place. Her heart was in her
work, and she would not rest until she had completed her round. From the
clematis on the cottage wall and the jessamine over the porch she passed
to a clump of variegated hollyhocks, and from them to the hedge of sweet
peas, to the fuchsias almost as high as the peas, the purple and white
phlox, the yellow evening primrose, and the many-colored asters.
Stooping here and there, she carefully trimmed the rank-growing
geraniums and the clusters of chrysanthemums, cut off the straggling
branches of the mignonette and removed every passing bloom of