CHAPTER VII.



And I now recall the impressions of springtime, all the fresh splendor
of May; and I remember vividly the lonely road called the Fountain road.

(As I am endeavoring to put my recollections into some sort of order I
think that at this time I must have been about five years old.)

I was old enough at any rate to take walks with my father and my sister,
and I went out with them this dewy morning. I was in ecstasy to see
that everything had become so green, to see the budding foliage and the
tasselled shrubs and hedges. Along the sides of the road the grass was
all the same length, and the flowers in the grass with their exquisite
mingling of the red of the geranium and the blue of the speedwell,
made the whole earth seem a great bouquet. As I plucked the flowers I
scarcely knew which way to run; in my eagerness I trod upon them and
my legs became wet from the dew--I marvelled at all the richness at my
disposal, and I longed to take great armfuls of the flowers and carry
them away with me.

My sister, who had gathered a sprig of hawthorn, one of iris and some
long sheath-like grasses leaned towards me, and took my hand, and said:
"You have enough for the present; you see, dear, that we could never
gather all of them."