Norwich bulletin., 1910-03-12
(Written for The BnlIetin. )


To the child. all the brightness and
sweetness of her fair young life seem
ed to dance and twinkle and bloom in
the morning glories that climbed the
The moment she was dressed, she
would go speeding down the kitchen
stairs and along the back passage to
the doorway, where, on the threshold
worn round and slippery and shining
through the years by the tread of
many feet, she would balance herself
on the tips of her toes, or else. for
safer footing, would jump to the broad
stone doorstep beneath, while she spoke
or sang or laughed her morning greet
ing to the world. The morning glories
greeted her. Great bells of white and
blue and purple futtered their gauzy
gossamer petals against her cheek and
welcomed the careSsing touch of her
small fingers. not shrinking, because
seeming to know that she loved them
and was akin to them, a young thing,
a mere blossom of the morning like
themselves. She knew they would go
to sleep as soon as the sun was high,
that their little hour was hers, that if
she were not there in the moment to
greet them ethe early glory would be
lost out of her day. They were friends,
she and the blossoms Of morning.
What the child loved were the LONG
hot summer days all shimmering in
golden sunshine, with baby breezes
stirring the air and the hum of in
SecUS making SOUND IN the silence, the
spring of the morning, the deep drow-
siness of noon; the bird calls and tWit-
teringS as she was led reluctant to
bed; the sleepy signing of the trees,
the chirp of the cicada and disputes
of the katydids: the low nurnlur of
voices rising from doorway and door
yard, from garden or river; and, often
times, when she lay long awake the
shining. in upon her of the friendly
stars of night.
A.. The child loved every phase and
feature of the little old homestead to
which she was lovingly brought from
the great city, year after year, to pass
her golden summers. The house it.
self fronted close to the street, but
there was a carriage drive at one side
with great gate to swing on; and,
at the back, the dooryard sloped down
to the rivers edge, a path leading
from the door-the morning glory door
straight down to the curling water.
Here, too the child came every morn
at the boat landing, looking up stream
and down stream. and across stream to
the meadows, then up to the sky, then
down into the depths of the rippling
river. To watch her, you might think
she was afraid of missing something.
But no, it was only her way of greet
ing the world, talking silently TO river
and meadow and sky, her way of list
river, the light. the air. the crisping
water and the wind-swept grasses had
to say to her. She knew that they
knew she loved them.
High above the river path. and on
both sides of it, stretched long beautiful
gardens that were linked together by
q wooden bridge, and buiwarked from
the river by rough walls of stone.
These walls afforded easy footing to an
experienced climb Der like this child of
ours. Every morning she asked her
self which garden she should visit
first. One had a long gravelled path
leading from a summer house atop the
stone wall to a little wicket gate
opening upon the carriage drive, and
was powered by three arches Chamber
ed over by vines and creepers and
trailing things and by all the roses
you could think of-giorious yellow
roses and waxy ones, pink roses, red
roses tea roses, all mingling their
beauty and fragrance with a myriad