hat you have here a garden too gay for proper Puritan minds, a place too like the show gardens of the Popish monasteries, or of the great lords that dwell amid such sinful luxury in England. In this Colony men and women have sat in the stocks for wasting precious hours over what shows only beauty to the eye and brings no benefit to the mind and heart. But what is that?" he broke off abruptly, sniffing suddenly at a vague sweet perfume that drifted down the May breeze.
"Please, sir, 'tis hawthorn," said Margeret, who was losing her terror of the Governor in curiosity at the sight of the Indians. "There was but a little sprig that Father brought from England, grown now to a great, spreading bush."
A sudden change came over the Governor's stern face. Had he a stabbing memory of wide, smooth English meadows, yellow daffodils upon a sunny slope and hedges sweet with hawthorn blossom in the Spring? None of the Pilgrims ever spoke of the homesickness that often assailed their steadfast hearts, but, as