garden, and in August the Isabellas, filmed with soot, had a
flavor, Robert Ferguson thought, finer than could be found in any
of the vineyards lying in the hot sunshine on the banks of the
river, far out of reach of Mercer's smoke. There was a flagstone
path around the arbor, and then borders of perennials against
brick walls thick with ivy or hidden by trellised peach-trees.
All summer long bees came to murmur among the flowers, and every
breeze that blew over them carried some sweetness to the hot and
tired streets outside. It was a spot of perfume and peace, and it
was no wonder that the hard-working, sad-eyed man liked to spend
his Sundays in it. But "remembering the Sabbath" was his
employer's strong point. Mrs. Maitland kept the Fourth
Commandment with passion. Her Sundays, dividing each six days of
extraordinary activity, were arid stretches of the unspeakable
dullness of idleness. When Blair grew up he used to look back at
those Sundays and shudder. There was church and Sunday-school in
the morning, then a cold dinner, for cold roast beef was Mrs.
Maitland's symbol of Sabbatical holiness. Then an endless, vacant
afternoon, spent always indoors. Certain small, pious books were
permitted the two children--_Little Henry and His Bearer, The
Ministering Children_, and like moral food; but no games, no
walks, no playing in the orchard. Silence and weary idleness and
Little Henry's holy arrogances. Though the day must have been as
dreary to Mrs. Maitland as it was to her son and daughter, she
never winced. She sat in the parlor, dressed in black silk, and
read _The Presbyterian_ and the Bible. She never allowed
herself to look at her desk in the dining-room, or even at her
knitting, which on week-days when she had no work to do was a
great resource; she looked at the clock a good deal, and
sometimes she sighed, then applied herself to _The