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A New England Girlhood, Outlined from Memory (Beverly, MA)
·
Lucy Larcom
119
To
go
away
from
the
little
garden
was
almost
as
bad.
Its
lilacs
and
peonies
were
beautiful
to
me,
and
in
a
corner
of
it
was
one
tiny
square
of
earth
that
I
called
my
own,
where
I
was
at
liberty
to
pull
up
my
pinks
and
lady's
delights
every
day,
to
see
whether
they
had
taken
root,
and
where
I
could
give
my
lazy
morning-glory
seeds
a
poke,
morning
after
morning,
to
help
them
get
up
and
begin
their
climb.
Oh,
I
should
miss
the
garden
very
much
indeed!
It
did
not
take
long
to
turn
over
the
new
leaf
of
our
home
experience.
One
sunny
day
three
of
us
children,
my
youngest
sister,
my
brother
John,
and
I,
took
with
my
mother
the
first
stage-coach
journey
of
our
lives,
across
Lynnfield
plains
and
over
Andover
hills
to
the
banks
of
the
Merrimack.
We
were
set
down
before
an
empty
house
in
a
yet
unfinished
brick
block,
where
we
watched
for
the
big
wagon
that
was
to
bring
our
household
goods.
It
came
at
last;
and
the
novelty
of
seeing
our
old
furniture
settled
in
new
rooms
kept
us
from
being
homesick.
One
after
another
they
appeared,--bedsteads,
chairs,
tables,
and,
to
me
most
welcome
of
all,
the
old
mahogany
secretary
with
brass-handled
drawers,
that
had
always
stood
in
the
"front
room"
at
home.
With
it
came
the
barrel
full
of
books
that
had
filled
its
shelves,
and
they
took
their
places
as
naturally
as
if
they
had
always
lived
in
this
strange
town.
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