Marys Meadow | Page 2

February 1884.
* * * * *
How fresh, O Lord, how sweet and clean Are Thy returns! ev'n as the
flowers in spring; To which, besides their own demean, The late-past
frosts tributes of pleasure bring. Grief melts away Like snow in May,
As if there were no such cold thing.
Who would have thought my shrivel'd heart Could have recover'd
greenness? It was gone Quite under ground; as flowers depart To see
their mother-root, when they have blown; Where they together All the
hard weather, Dead to the world, keep house unknown.
* * * * *
O that I once past changing were, Fast in Thy Paradise, where no
flower can wither! Many a spring I shoot up fair, Offering at heaven,
growing and groaning thither; Nor doth my flower Want a
spring-shower, My sins and I joining together.
* * * * *
These are Thy wonders, Lord of love, To make us see we are but
flowers that glide: Which when we once can find and prove, Thou hast
a garden for us, where to bide. Who would be more, Swelling through
store, Forfeit their Paradise by their pride.
GEORGE HERBERT.
* * * * *

MARY'S MEADOW
CHAPTER I.
Mother is always trying to make us love our neighbours as ourselves.

She does so despise us for greediness, or grudging, or snatching, or not
sharing what we have got, or taking the best and leaving the rest, or
helping ourselves first, or pushing forward, or praising Number One, or
being Dogs in the Manger, or anything selfish. And we cannot bear her
to despise us!
We despise being selfish, too; but very often we forget. Besides, it is
sometimes rather difficult to love your neighbour as yourself when you
want a thing very much; and Arthur says he believes it is particularly
difficult if it is your next-door-neighbour, and that that is why Father
and the Old Squire quarrelled about the footpath through Mary's
Meadow.
The Old Squire is not really his name, but that is what people call him.
He is very rich. His place comes next to ours, and it is much bigger,
and he has quantities of fields, and Father has only got a few; but there
are two fields beyond Mary's Meadow which belong to Father, though
the Old Squire wanted to buy them. Father would not sell them, and he
says he has a right of way through Mary's Meadow to go to his fields,
but the Old Squire says he has nothing of the kind, and that is what they
quarrelled about.
Arthur says if you quarrel, and are too grown-up to punch each other's
heads, you go to law; and if going to law doesn't make it up, you appeal.
They went to law, I know, for Mother cried about it; and I suppose it
did not make it up, for the Old Squire appealed.
After that he used to ride about all day on his grey horse, with Saxon,
his yellow bull-dog, following him, to see that we did not trespass on
Mary's Meadow. I think he thought that if we children were there,
Saxon would frighten us, for I do not suppose he knew that we knew
him. But Saxon used often to come with the Old Squire's Scotch
Gardener to see our gardener, and when they were looking at the
wall-fruit, Saxon used to come snuffing after us.
He is the nicest dog I know. He looks very savage, but he is only very
funny. His lower jaw sticks out, which makes him grin, and some
people think he is gnashing his teeth with rage. We think it looks as if

he were laughing--like Mother Hubbard's dog, when she brought home
his coffin, and he wasn't dead--but it really is only the shape of his jaw.
I loved Saxon the first day I saw him, and he likes me, and licks my
face. But what he likes best of all are Bath Oliver Biscuits.
One day the Scotch Gardener saw me feeding him, and he pulled his
red beard, and said, "Ye do weel to mak' hay while the sun shines,
Saxon, my man. There's sma' sight o' young leddies and sweet cakes at
hame for ye!" And Saxon grinned, and wagged his tail, and the Scotch
Gardener touched his hat to me, and took him away.
The Old Squire's Weeding Woman is our nursery-maid's aunt. She is
not very old, but she looks so, because she has lost her teeth, and is
bent nearly double. She wears a large hood, and carries a big basket,
which she puts down outside the nursery door when she comes to tea
with Bessy. If it is a fine afternoon, and we are gardening, she lets us
borrow