It was plain there was no hope for me here, and after
three days I went back to town.
Now it was early summer, and my grandmother and I were again in our dear
home in the village. As I have said, she was sitting by the open window,
where she could look out upon the flowers, the grass, and a little of
the life of her neighbors. I sat near her, and had been telling her of
my three days in the Forest of Arden, and of the veritable Jaques whom I
met there, when she remarked:--
"That must have been extremely interesting; and, speaking of the woods,
I wish you would say to Thomas that so soon as he can find time I want
him to bring up some of that rich wood-soil and put it around those
geraniums."
This was the first time my grandmother had interjected any remark into
my recitals. She had often asked me to tell her about my travels, and on
every other occasion she had listened until she softly fell asleep. I
now remembered having heard her say that it interfered with her night's
rest to sleep in the daytime. Perhaps her present interruption was
intended as a gentle rebuke, and no other kind of rebuke had ever come
to me from my grandmother.
I went out to find Thomas, oppressed by a mild despair. If I were to
tell my tales to a stone, I thought, it would turn on me with a sermon.
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