No one was visible as she went in, and walking slowly down the green
aisle, she gave herself up to the enjoyment of the lovely place. The
damp, sweet air made summer there, and a group of slender, oriental
trees whispered in the breath of wind that blew in from an open
sash. Strange vines and flowers hung overhead; banks of azaleas,
ruddy, white, and purple, bloomed in one place; roses of every hue
turned their lovely faces to the sun; ranks of delicate ferns, and
heaths with their waxen bells, were close by; glowing geraniums and
stately lilies side by side; savage-looking scarlet flowers with
purple hearts, or orange spikes rising from leaves mottled with
strange colors; dusky passion-flowers, and gay nasturtiums climbing
to the roof. All manner of beautiful and curious plants were there;
and Christie walked among them, as happy as a child who finds its
playmates again.
Coming to a bed of pansies she sat down on a rustic chair, and,
leaning forward, feasted her eyes on these her favorites. Her face
grew young as she looked, her hands touched them with a lingering
tenderness as if to her they were half human, and her own eyes were
so busy enjoying the gold and purple spread before her, that she did
not see another pair peering at her over an unneighborly old cactus,
all prickles, and queer knobs.
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