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The Garden, You, and I by Mabel Osgood Wright
page 76 of 311 (24%)
a condition of cheerful good order unknown to that hour of the day.

There is such a temperamental difference in this mere setting things to
rights. It can be done so that every chair has a stiffly repellent look,
and the conspicuous absence of dust makes one painfully conscious that
it has not always been thus, while the fingers inadvertently stray over
one's attire, plucking a shred here and a thread there. Even flowers can
be arranged in a vase so as to look thoroughly and reproachfully
uncomfortable, and all the grace and meaning crushed out of them. But
Maria Maxwell has the touch gracious that makes even a plainly furnished
room hold out detaining hands as you go through, and the flowers on the
greeting table in the hall (yes, Lavinia Cortright taught me that little
fancy of yours during her first visit), though much the same as I had
been gathering for a week past, wore an air of novelty!

For a moment we stood at the foot of the stairs looking about and
getting our bearings, as guests in an unfamiliar place rather than
householders. It flitted through my body that I was hungry, and one of
the "must be's" of the vacation country was that we were to forage for
breakfast. At the same time Bart sauntered unconsciously toward the
mail-box under the hat-rack and then, suddenly putting his hands behind
him, turned to me with a quizzical expression, saying: "Letters are
forbidden, I know, but how about the paper? Even the 'Weekly Tribune'
would be something; you know that sheet was devised for farmers!"

"If this vacation isn't to be a punishment, but a pleasure, I think we
had both better 'have what we want when we want it'!" I replied, for at
that moment I spied the Infant out on the porch, and to hug her ladyship
was a swiftly accomplished desire. For some reason she seemed rather
astonished at this very usual performance, and putting her hands,
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