Chris put his arms round my neck, and buried his cheek against mine.
"I won't be sly, Mary," he whispered; and then, hugging me as he hugs
Lady Catherine, he added, "For I do love you; for you are a darling,
and I do really think it always was yours."
"What, Chris?"
"If not," said Chris, "why was it always called MARY'S MEADOW?"
LETTERS FROM A LITTLE GARDEN.
LETTER I.
"All is fine that is fit."_--Old Proverb._
DEAR LITTLE FRIEND,
When, with the touching confidence of youth, that your elders have
made-up as well as grown-up minds on all subjects, you asked my
opinion on _Ribbon-gardening_, the above proverb came into my head, to
the relief of its natural tendency to see an inconvenient number of
sides to every question. The more I reflect upon it, the more I am
convinced it is a comfortably compact confession of my faith on all
matters decorative, and thence on the decoration of gardens.
I take some credit to myself for having the courage of my moderation,
since you obviously expect a more sweeping reply. The bedding-out
system is in bad odour just now; and you ask, "Wasn't it hideous?"
and "Wasn't it hateful?" and "Will it ever come into fashion again, to
the re-extermination of the dear old-fashioned flowers which we are
now slowly, and with pains, recalling from banishment?"
To discover one's own deliberate opinion upon a subject is not always
easy--prophetic opinions one must refuse to offer.
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