He stood leaning against the old stone fountain on the straight lawn
under the noonday sun. The bees hummed slumberously around him,
sailing from flower to flower, and the hot air, laden with the scents
of the soil, seemed to penetrate his body at every pore, infusing a
sense of vitality into him which pulsed through all his veins. Austin
always said that high noon was the supreme moment of the day. To some
folks the most beautiful time was dawn, to others sunset, but at noon
Nature was like a flower at its full, a flower in the very zenith of
its strength and glory. He had always loved the noon.

"The world seems literally palpitating with life," he thought, as he
rested his arm on the rim of the time-worn fountain. "I'm sure it's
conscious, in some way or other. How it must enjoy itself! Look at the
trees; so strong, and calm, and splendid. They know well enough how
strong they are, and when there's a storm that tries to blow them
down, how they do revel in battling with it! And then the hot air,
embracing the earth so voluptuously--playing with the slender plants,
and caressing the upstanding flowers. They stand up because they want
to be caressed, the amorous creatures. How wonderful it is--the
different characters that flowers have. Some are shrill and fierce and
passionate, while others are meek and sly, and pretend to shrink when
they are even noticed. Some are wicked--shamelessly, insolently,
magnificently wicked--like those scarlet anthuriums, with their
curling yellow tongues. That flower is the very incarnation of sin;
no, not incarnation--what's the word? I can't think, but it doesn't
matter. Incarnation will do, for the thing is exactly like
recalcitrant human flesh. Lubin!"

"Yes, Sir?" responded Lubin, who was digging near.