The Smiling Hill-Top | Page 9

he been present. Owing to the placing of
the house, we are doomed to have a lopsided garden whatever we do,
but we want it to look wayward rather than eccentric. After a battle
fought over nearly every inch of the ground the lady was victorious, for
Will said to me as he watched her motor disappear: "I might as well do
what she says or she'll make me do it over." In this J---- and I heartily
concurred, for the simplest of arithmetical calculations would show that
it would otherwise prove expensive.
Will had a worker whose unhappy lot it was to dig up stumps, apply the
pick to the adobe parts of the soil, and generally to toil in the sweat of
his brow. As a team they made some progress, and I began to have
some hope of enjoying what I had always been led to believe was the
treat of one's life--making a garden. I felt entirely care-free--the lady
gardener was the boss and there was only room for one--directions
were a drug on the market. This state of affairs was short-lived. Will
failed to appear the third day out, and the lady gardener's pumping
system for her nurseries blew up or leaked or lay down on the job in
some way, so that the worker and I confronted each other, ignorant and
unbossed. I will not dwell on the week that followed. The lady gardener
gave almost vicious orders by telephone and the worker did his best,
but it is not a handy way to direct a garden. When the last rosebush is

in, including some that Will is gloomily certain will never grow, I think
I shall go away for a rest to some place where there is only cactus and
sage and sand.
J---- arrived on the scene in time to save the day, and the garden is very
lovely. Next year it will be worth going a long way to see, for in this
part of the world planting things is like playing with Japanese water
flowers. A wall of gray stucco gently curves along the canyon side,
while a high lattice on the other shows dim outlines of the hills beyond.
In the wall are arches with gates so curved as to leave circular openings,
through which we get glimpses of the sea. It makes me think of King
Arthur's castle at Tintagel. In the lattice there is a wicket gate. There is
something very alluring about a wicket gate--it connotes a Robin.
Unfortunately, my Robin can only appear from Friday to Monday, but
I'm not complaining. Any one is fortunate who can count on romance
two days out of seven. At the far end of the garden is a screen designed
to hide the peculiarites of the garage. The central panel is concrete with
a window with green balusters; below is a wall fountain. The window
suggests a half-hidden señorita. It really conceals a high-school boy
who is driving the motor for me in J----'s absence, but that is immaterial.
The fountain is set with sapphire-blue tiles and the water trickles from
the mouth of the most amiable lion I ever saw. He was carved from
Boisè stone by one "Luigi" from a sketch by our architect friend. He
has Albrecht Dürer curls--the lion I mean--four on a side that look like
sticks of peppermint candy and we call him "Boysey."
The pool below him is a wonderful place for boat sailing. It fairly
bristles with the masts of schooners and yachts, and the guns of torpedo
destroyers, and while the architect and the grown-ups did not have a
naval base in mind when the sketch was made, I do appreciate the
feelings of my sons.
"There's a fountain in our garden, With the brightest bluest tiles And
the pleasantest stone lion Who spits into it and smiles! It's shaded by
papyrus And reeds and grasses tall, Just a little land-locked harbor
Beside the garden wall.
"They talked of water-lilies And lotus pink and white-- We didn't dare

to say a word But we wished with all our might, For how could we
manoeuvre The submarine we've got, If they go and clutter up the place
With all that sort of rot.
"But mother said she thought perhaps We'd wait another year, 'It's such
a lovely place to play, We ought to keep it clear.' So there's nothing but
a goldfish Who has to be a Hun, I don't suppose he likes it, But gee, it's
lots of fun!"
Some day we are going to have a sun dial. J---- thought of a wonderful
motto in the best Latin, and now he can't remember it, which is
harrowing, because it would be so stylish to have a perfectly original
one. It was