nerally of my plans that I at last felt it
would be difficult to do without him. But I could not help considering
it strange that he should so frequently give up the higher society to
which he was accustomed in the city, and spend so much of his time at
our humble cottage.

Thus the season went on until August came in, when the strawberry-ground
was becoming thickly covered with runners, especially from the newly
planted half-acre. I had intended bestowing no particular care on these,
except to keep down the weeds so that the runners could take root. But
when Mr. Logan learned this, he said it would never do. Besides, he
said, the ground looked to him as if it were not rich enough. So, if he
could have his own way, he would show me how the thing should be
managed. Well, as by this time he really appeared to have as much to say
about the garden as any of us, what could I do but consent? First,
then, with my assistance, he turned back the runners into the rows, and
then had the spaces between covered with a thick coat of fine old
compost, which he probably bought somewhere in the neighborhood,--but
how much it cost we could never get him to say. Then he brought in a man
with a plough, who broke up the ground, turning the manure thoroughly
in, and then harrowing it until the surface was as finely pulverized as
if done with a rake. Then we spread out the runners again, and he showed
me how to fasten them by letting them down into the soft earth with the
point of my hoe. I told him I never should have thought of taking so
much trouble; but he said there was no other way by which the runners
could be converted into robust plants, certain to produce a heavy crop
the next season. They must have a freshly loosened soil to run over, and
in which to form strong roots; and as to enriching the ground, it was
absolutely indispensable. To be sure, I could produce fruit without it,
but it would be of very inferior quality.

One may well suppose that this intimate association, this almost daily
companionship, this grateful interchange of thoughts and feelings that
seemed to flow in one harmonious current from a common fountain, should
have exerted a powerful influence over me. Such intercourse with one so
singularly gifted with the faculty of winning favor from all who knew
him gave birth to emotions within me such as I had never experienced. Am
I to blame for being thus affected, or in confessing that every long
October evening was do