iolets, and celandines in sheets. The celandines in particular
delighted me with their clean, happy brightness, so beautifully trim
and newly varnished, as though they too had had the painters at work
on them. Then, when the anemones went, came a few stray periwinkles and
Solomon's Seal, and all the birdcherries blossomed in a burst. And then,
before I had a little got used to the joy of their flowers against the
sky, came the lilacs--masses and masses of them, in clumps on the
grass, with other shrubs and trees by the side of walks, and one great
continuous bank of them half a mile long right past the west front of
the house, away down as far as one could see, shining glorious against
a background of firs. When that time came, and when, before it was
over, the acacias all blossomed too, and four great clumps of pale,
silvery-pink peonies flowered under the south windows, I felt so
absolutely happy, and blest, and thankful, and grateful, that I really
cannot describe it. My days seemed to melt away in a dream of pink and
purple peace.

There were only the old housekeeper and her handmaiden in the house, so
that on the plea of not giving too much trouble I could indulge what my
other half calls my _fantaisie_ _dereglee_ as regards meals--that is to
say, meals so simple that they could be brought out to the lilacs on
a tray; and I lived, I remember, on salad and bread and tea the whole
time, sometimes a very tiny pigeon appearing at lunch to save me, as
the old lady thought, from starvation. Who but a woman could have stood
salad for six weeks, even salad sanctified by the presence and scent
of the most gorgeous lilac masses? I did, and grew in grace every day,
though I have never liked it since. How often now, oppressed by the
necessity of assisting at three dining-room meals daily, two of which
are conducted by the functionaries held indispensable to a proper
maintenance of the family dignity, and all of which are pervaded by
joints of meat, how often do I think of my salad days, forty in number,
and of the blessedness of being alone as I was then alone!

And then the evenings, when the workmen had all gone and the house was
left to emptiness and echoes, and the old housekeeper had gathered up
her rheumatic limbs into her bed, and my little room in quite another
part of the house had been set ready, how reluctantly I used to leave
the friendly frogs and owls, and with my heart somewhere down in my
shoes lock the door t