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137
The Solitary Summer
·
Elizabeth Von Arnim
108
But
of
what
use
is
it
telling
a
woman
with
a
garden
that
she
ought
really
to
be
ashamed
of
herself
for
being
happy?
The
fresh
air
is
so
buoyant
that
it
lifts
all
remarks
of
that
sort
away
off
you
and
leaves
you
laughing.
They
get
wafted
away
on
the
scent
of
the
stocks,
and
you
stand
in
the
sun
looking
round
at
your
cheerful
flowers,
and
more
than
ever
persuaded
that
it
is
a
good
and
blessed
thing
to
be
thankful.
Oh
a
garden
is
a
sweet,
sane
refuge
to
have!
Whether
I
am
tired
because
I
have
enjoyed
myself
too
much,
or
tired
because
I
have
lectured
the
servants
too
much,
or
tired
because
I
have
talked
to
missionaries
too
much,
I
have
only
to
come
down
the
verandah
steps
into
the
garden
to
be
at
once
restored
to
quiet,
and
serenity,
and
my
real
and
natural
self.
I
could
almost
fancy
sometimes
that
as
I
come
down
the
steps,
gentle
hands
of
blessing
have
been
laid
on
my
head.
I
suppose
I
feel
so
because
of
the
hush
that
descends
on
my
soul
when
I
get
out
of
the
close,
restless
house
into
that
silent
purity.
Sometimes
I
sit
for
hours
in
the
south
walk
by
the
verandah
just
listening
and
watching.
It
is
so
private
there,
though
directly
beneath
the
windows,
that
it
is
one
of
my
favourite
places.
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