ntraceable,
and most unmistakeable, of all. The breath and the perfume, and the
smile and the kiss, greeted Lois as she went into the old garden. She
knew them well of old time, and welcomed them now. She even stood still
a bit to take in the rare beauty and joy of them. And yet, the apple
trees were bare, and the cherry trees; the turf was dead and withered;
the brown ploughed-up soil had no relief of green growths. Only Spring
was there with Lois, and yet that seemed enough; Spring and
associations. How many hours of pleasant labour in that enclosed bit of
ground there had been; how many lapfuls and basketfuls of fruits the
rich reward of the labour; how Lois had enjoyed both! And now, here was
spring again, and the implanted garden. Lois wanted no more.

She took her stand under one of the bare old apple trees, and surveyed
her ground, like a young general. She had it all mapped out, and knew
just where things were last year. The patch of potatoes was in that
corner, and a fine yield they had been. Corn had been here; yes, and
here she would run her lines of early peas. Lois went to work. It was
not very easy work, as you would know if you had ever tried to reduce
ground that has been merely ploughed and harrowed, to the smooth
evenness necessary for making shallow drills. Lois plied spade and rake
with an earnest good-will, and thorough knowledge of her business. Do
not imagine an untidy long skirt sweeping the soft soil and
transferring large portions of it to the gardener's ankles; Lois was
dressed for her work in a short stuff frock and leggins; and looked as
nice when she came out as when she went in, albeit not in any costume
ever seen in Fifth Avenue or Central Park. But what do I say? If she
looked "nice" when she went out to her garden, she looked superb when
she came in, or when she had been an hour or so delving. Her hat fallen
back a little; her rich masses of hair just a little loosened, enough
to show their luxuriance; the colour flushed into her cheeks with the
exercise, and her eyes all alive with spirit and zeal--ah, the fair
ones in Fifth or any other avenue would give a great deal to look so;
but that sort of thing goes with the short frock and leggins, and will
not be conjured up by a mantua-maker. Lois had after a while a strip of
her garden ground nicely levelled and raked smooth; and then her line
was stretched over it, and her drills drawn, and the peas were planted
and were covered; and a lit