ething fairer than

"Sweet-peas and mignonette
In Annie's garden grew."

Her nature was the counterpart of the hill-side grove, where as a child
she had read her fairy tales, and now as a woman turned the first pages
of a more wondrous legend still. Lifted above the many-gabled roof, yet
not cut off from the echo of human speech, the little grove seemed a
green sanctuary, fringed about with violets, and full of summer melody
and bloom. Gentle creatures haunted it, and there was none to make
afraid; wood-pigeons cooed and crickets chirped their shrill
roundelays, anemones and lady-ferns looked up from the moss that kissed
the wanderer's feet. Warm airs were all afloat, full of vernal odors
for the grateful sense, silvery birches shimmered like spirits of the
wood, larches gave their green tassels to the wind, and pines made airy
music sweet and solemn, as they stood looking heavenward through veils
of summer sunshine or shrouds of wintry snow.

Nan never felt alone now in this charmed wood; for when she came into
its precincts, once so full of solitude, all things seemed to wear one
shape, familiar eyes looked at her from the violets in the grass,
familiar words sounded in the whisper of the leaves, grew conscious
that an unseen influence filled the air with new delights, and touched
earth and sky with a beauty never seen before. Slowly these Mayflowers
budded in her maiden heart, rosily they bloomed and silently they
waited till some lover of such lowly herbs should catch their fresh
aroma, should brush away the fallen leaves, and lift them to the sun.

Though the eldest of the three, she had long been overtopped by the
more aspiring maids. But though she meekly yielded the reins of
government, whenever they chose to drive, they were soon restored to
her again; for Di fell into literature, and Laura into love. Thus
engrossed, these two forgot many duties which even bluestockings and
inamoratos are expected to perform, and slowly all the homely humdrum
cares that housewives know became Nan's daily life, and she accepted it
without a thought of discontent. Noiseless and cheerful as the
sunshine, she went to and fro, doing the tasks that mothers do, but
without a mother's sweet reward, holding fast the numberless slight
threads that bind a household tenderly together, and making each day a
beautiful success.

Di, being tired of running, riding, climbing, and boating, decided at
last to let her body rest and