en. It did not
consist in order or system, for there was no trace of either, except,
perhaps, in that prim row of poplars growing about the whole domain
and shutting it away from all idle and curious eyes. For the rest, I
think the real charm must have been in its unexpectedness. At every
turn and in every nook you stumbled on some miracle of which you had
never dreamed. Or perhaps the charm was simply that the whole garden
was an expression of Uncle Dick's personality.

In one corner a little green dory, filled with earth, overflowed in a
wave of gay annuals. In the centre of the garden an old birch-bark
canoe seemed sailing through a sea of blossoms, with a many-coloured
freight of geraniums. Paths twisted and turned among flowering shrubs,
and clumps of old-fashioned perennials were mingled with the latest
fads of the floral catalogues. The mid-garden was a pool of sunshine,
with finely sifted winds purring over it, but under the poplars there
were shadows and growing things that loved the shadows, crowding about
the old stone benches at each side. Somehow, my daily glimpse of Uncle
Dick's garden soon came to symbolize for me a meaning easier to
translate into life and soul than into words. It was a power for good
within me, making its influence felt in many ways.

Finally I caught Uncle Dick in his garden. On my way home one evening
I found him on his knees among the rosebushes, and as soon as he saw
me he sprang up and came forward with outstretched hand. He was a tall
man of about fifty, with grizzled hair, but not a thread of silver yet
showed itself in the ripples of his long brown beard. Later I
discovered that his splendid beard was Uncle Dick's only vanity. So
fine and silky was it that it did not hide the candid, sensitive
curves of his mouth, around which a mellow smile, tinged with kindly,
quizzical humour, always lingered. His face was tanned even more
deeply than is usual among farmers, for he had an inveterate habit of
going about hatless in the most merciless sunshine; but the line of
forehead under his hair was white as milk, and his eyes were darkly
blue and as tender as a woman's.

"How do you do, Master?" he said heartily. (The Bayside pedagogue was
invariably addressed as "Master" by young and old.) "I'm glad to see
you. Here I am, trying to save my rosebushes. There are green bugs on
'em, Master--green bugs, and they're worrying the life out of me."

I smiled, for Uncle Dick looked very unlik