To…day　is　Sunday；　and　the　garden　is　so　quiet；　that；　sitting　here　in　this　shady　corner　watching　the　lazy　shadows　stretching　themselves　across　the　grass；　and　listening　to　the　rooks　quarrelling　in　the　treetops；　I　almost　expect　to　hear　English　church　bells　ringing　for　the　afternoon　service。　But　the　church　is　three　miles　off；　has　no　bells；　and　no　afternoon　service。　Once　a　fortnight　we　go　to　morning　prayer　at　eleven　and　sit　up　in　a　sort　of　private　box　with　a　room　behind；　whither　we　can　retire　unobserved　when　the　sermon　is　too　long　or　our　flesh　too　weak；　and　hear　ourselves　being　prayed　for　by　the　blackrobed　parson。　　In　winter　the　church　is　bitterly　cold；　it　is　not　heated；　and　we　sit　muffled　up　in　more　furs　than　ever　we　wear　out　of　doors　；　but　it　would　of　course　be　very　wicked　for　the　parson　to　wear　furs；　however　cold　he　may　be；　so　he　puts　on　a　great　many　extra　coats　under　his　gown；　and；　as　the　winter　progresses；　swells　to　a　prodigious　size。　We　know　when　spring　is　coming　by　the　reduction　in　his　figure。　The　congregation　sit　at　ease　while　the　parson　does　the　praying　for　them；　and　while　they　are　droning　the　long…drawn…out　chorales；　he　retires　into　a　little　wooden　box　just　big　enough　to　hold　him。　He　does　not　come　out　until　he　thinks　we　have　sung　enough；　nor　do　we　stop　until　his　appearance　gives　us　the　signal。　　I　have　often　thought　how　dreadful　it　would　be　if　he　fell　ill　in　his　box　and　left　us　to　go　on　singing。　I　am　sure　we　should　never　dare　to　stop；　unauthorised　by　the　Church。　I　asked　him　once　what　he　did　in　there；　he　looked　very　shocked　at　such　a　profane　question；　and　made　an　evasive　reply。
  If　it　were　not　for　the　garden；　a　German　Sunday　would　be　a　terrible　day；　but　in　the　garden　on　that　day　there　is　a　sigh　of　relief　and　more　profound　peace；　nobody　raking　or　sweeping　or　fidgeting；　only　the　little　flowers　themselves　and　the　whispering　trees。
  I　have　been　much　afflicted　again　lately　by　visitors　not　stray　callers　to　be　got　rid　of　after　a　due　administration　of　tea　and　things　you　are　sorry　afterwards　that　you　said；　but　people　staying　in　the　house　and　not　to　be　got　rid　of　at　all。　All　June　was　lost　to　me　in　this　way；　and　it　was　from　first　to　last　a　radiant　month　of　heat　and　beauty；　but　a　garden　where　you　meet　the　people　you　saw　at　breakfast；　and　will　see　again　at　lunch　and　dinner；　is　not　a　place　to　be　happy　in。　Besides；　they　had　a　knack　of　finding　out　my　favourite　seats　and　lounging　in　them　just　when　I　longed　to　lounge　myself；　and　they　took　books　out　of　the　library　with　them；　and　left　them　face　downwards　on　the　seats　all　night　to　get　well　drenched　with　dew；　though　they　might　have　known　that　what　is　meat　for　roses　is　poison　for　books；　and　they　gave　me　to　understand　that　if　they　had　had　the　arranging　of　the　garden　it　would　have　been　finished　long　agowhereas　I　don't　believe　a　garden　ever　is　finished。　They　have　all　gone　now；　thank　heaven；　except　one；　so　that　I　have　a　little　breathing　space　before　others　begin　to　arrive。　It　seems　that　the　place　interests　people；　and　that　there　is　a　sort　of　novelty　in　staying　in　such　a　deserted　corner　of　the　world；　for　they　were　in　a　perpetual　state　of　mild　amusement　at　being　here　at　all。　　　　　　　Irais　is　the　only　one　left。　She　is　a　young　woman　with　a　beautiful；　refined　face；　and　her　eyes　and　straight；　fine　eyebrows　are　particularly　lovable。　At　meals　she　dips　her　bread　into　the　salt…cellar；　bites　a　bit　off；　and　repeats　the　process；　although　providence　（taking　my　shape）　has　caused　salt…spoons　to　be　placed　at　convenient　intervals　down　the　table。　　She　lunched　to…day　on　beer；　Schweine…koteletten；　and　cabbage…salad　with　caraway　seeds　in　it；　and　now　I　hear　her　through　the　open　window；　extemporising　touching　melodies　in　her　charming；　cooing　voice。　She　is　thin；　frail；　intelligent；　and　lovable；　all　on　the　above　diet。　What　better　proof　can　be　needed　to　establish　the　superiority　of　the　Teuton　than　the　fact　that　after　such　meals　he　can　produce　such　music？　　Cabbage　salad　is　a　horrid　invention；　but　I　don't　doubt　its　utility　as　a　means　of　encouraging　thoughtfulness；　nor　will　I　quarrel　with　it；　since　it　results　so　poetically；　any　more　than　I　quarrel　with　the　manure　that　results　in　roses；　and　I　give　it　to　Irais　every　day　to　make　her　sing。　She　is　the　sweetest　singer　I　have　ever　heard；　and　has　a　charming　trick　of　making　up　songs　as　she　goes　along。　When　she　begins；　I　go　and　lean　out　of　the　window　and　look　at　my　little　friends　out　there　in　the　borders　while　listening　to　her　music；　and　feel　full　of　pleasant　sadness　and　regret。　It　is　so　sweet　to　be　sad　when　one　has　nothing　to　be　sad　about。
  The　April　baby　came　panting　up　just　as　I　had　written　that；　the　others　hurrying　along　behind；　and　with　flaming　cheeks　displayed　for　my　admiration　three　brand…new　kittens；　lean　and　blind；　that　she　was　carrying　in　her　pinafore；　and　that　had　just　been　found　motherless　in　the　woodshed。
  〃Look；〃　she　cried　breathlessly；　〃such　a　much！〃
  I　was　glad　it　was　only　kittens　this　time；　for　she　had　been　once　before　this　afternoon　on　purpose；　as　she　informed　me；　sitting　herself　down　on　the　grass　at　my　feet；　to　ask　about　the　lieber　Gott；　it　being　Sunday　and　her　pious　little　nurse's　conversation　having　run；　as　it　seems；　on　heaven　and　angels。
  Her　questions　about　the　lieber　Gott　are　better　left　unrecorded；　and　I　was　relieved　when　she　began　about　the　angels。
  〃What　do　they　wear　for　clothes？〃　she　asked　in　her　German…English。
  〃Why；　you've　seen　them　in　pictures；〃　I　answered；　〃in　beautiful；　long　dresses；　and　with　big；　white　wings。〃　〃Feathers？〃　she　asked。
  〃I　suppose　so；and　long　dresses；　all　white　and　beautiful。〃
  〃Are　they　girlies？〃
  〃Girls？　Yees。〃
  〃Don't　boys　go　into　the　Himmel？〃
  〃Yes；　of　course；　if　they're　good。〃
  〃And　then　what　do　_they_　wear？〃　　〃Why；　the　same　as　all　the　other　angels；　I　suppose。〃
  〃Dwesses？〃
  She　began　to　laugh；　looking　at　me　sideways　as　though　she　suspected　me　of　making　jokes。　　〃What　a　funny　Mummy！〃　she　said；　evidently　much　amused。　She　has　a　fat　little　laugh　that　is　very　infectious。
  〃I　think；〃　said　I；　gravely；　〃you　had　better　go　and　play　with　the　other　babies。〃
  She　did　not　answer；　and　sat　still　a　moment　watching　the　clouds。　I　began　writing　again。
  〃Mummy；〃　she　said　presently。
  〃Well？〃
  〃Where　do　the　angels　get　their　dwesses？〃
  I　hesitated。　　〃From　lieber　Gott；〃　I　said。
  〃Are　there　shops　in　the　Himmel？〃
  〃Shops？　No。〃
  〃But；　then；　where　does　lieber　Gott　buy　their　dwesses？〃
  〃Now　run　away　like　a　good　baby；　I'm　busy。〃
  〃But　you　said　yesterday；　when　I　asked　about　lieber　Gott；　that　you　would　tell　about　Him　on　Sunday；　and　it　is　Sunday。　Tell　me　a　story　about　Him。〃
  There　was　nothing　for　it　but　resignation；　so　I　put　down　my　pencil　with　a　sigh。　　〃Call　the　others；　then。〃
  She　ran　away；　and　presently　they　all　three　emerged　from　the　bushes　one　after　the　other；　and　tried　all　together　to　scramble　on　to　my　knee。　The　April　baby　got　the　knee　as　she　always　seems　to　get　everything；　and　the　other　two　had　to　sit　on　the　grass。
  I　began　about　Adam　and　Eve；　with　an　eye　to　future　parsonic　probings。　The　April　baby's　eyes　opened　wider　and　wider；　and　her　face　grew　redder　and　redder。　　I　was　surprised　at　the　breathless　interest　she　took　in　the　story　the　other　two　were　tearing　up　tufts　of　grass　and　hardly　listening。　I　had　scarcely　got　to　the　angels　with　the　flaming　swords　and　announced　that　that　was　all；　when　she　burst　out；　〃Now　I'll　tell　about　it。　Once　upon　a　time　there　was　Adam　and　Eva；　and　they　had　plenty　of　clothes；　and　there　was　no　snake；　and　lieber　Gott　wasn't　angry　with　them；　and　they　could　eat　as　many　apples　as　they　liked；　and　was　happy　for　ever　and　everthere　now！〃
  She　began　to　jump　up　and　down　defiantly　on　my　knee。
  〃But　that's　not　the　story；〃　I　said　rather　helplessly。　　　〃Yes；　yes！　　It's　a　much　nicelier　one！　　Now　another。〃
  〃But　these　stories　are　true；〃　I　said　severely；　〃and　it's　no　use　my　telling　them　if　you　make　them　up　your　own　way　afterwards。〃
  〃Another！　another！〃　she　shrieked；　jumping　up　and　down　with　redoubled　energy；　all　her　silvery　curls　flying。
  I　began　about　Noah　and　the　flood。
  〃Did　it　rain　so　badly？〃　she　asked　with　a　face　of　the　deepest　concern　and　interest。
  〃Yes；　all　day　long　and　all　night　long　for　weeks　and　weeks　〃
  〃And　was　everybody　so　wet？〃
  〃Yes〃
  〃But　why　didn't　they　open　their　umbwellas？〃
  Just　then　I　saw　the　nurse　coming　out　with　the　tea…tray。
  〃I'll　tell　you　the　rest　another　time；〃　I　said；　putting　her　off　my　knee；　greatly　relieved；　〃you　must　all　go　to　Anna　now　and　have　tea。〃
  〃I　don't　like　Anna；〃　remarked　the　June　baby；　not　having　hitherto　opened　her　lips；　〃she　is　a　stupid　girl。〃
  The　other　two　stood　transfixed　with　horror　at　this　statement；　for；　besides　being　naturally　extremely　polite；　and　at　all　times　anxious　not　to　hurt　any　one's　feelings；　they　had　been　brought　up　to　love　and　respect　their　kind　little　nurse。
  The　April　baby　recovered　her　speech　first；　and　lifting　her　finger；　pointed　it　at　the　criminal　in　just　indignation。　〃Such　a　child　will　never　go　into　the　Himmel；〃　she　said　with　great　emphasis；　and　the　air　of　one　who　delivers　judgment。
  September　15th。This　is　the　month　of　quiet　days；　crimson　creepers；　and　blackberries；　of　mellow　afternoons　in　the　ripening　garden；　of　tea　under　the　acacias　instead　of　the　too　shady　beeches；　of　wood…fires　in　the　library　in　the　chilly　eve