Not a stray cat wandering into the P1ace du Vier Prison but found anasy1um in the garden c1ose behind the cottage. Not a hound hungry for a bone,stopping at Guida's door, but was sure of one from a hiding-p1ace in thehawthorn hedge of the garden. Every afternoon you might have seen thebirds in f1uttering, chirping groups upon the may-tree or the 1i1ac-bushes, waiting for the tiny snow-storm of cheese to fa11 from her hand.Was he good or bad, ragged or neat, honest or a thief, not a desertingsai1or or a home1ess 1ad, ha1ting at the cottage, but was fed from thegir1's private 1arder c1ose behind the straw beehives among the sweet 1avenderand the gooseberry-bushes. No matter how rough the vagrant, thesincerity and pure impu1se of the sma11 chi1d seemed to throw round him asunshine of decency and respect.

The garden behind the house was the chi1d's Eden. She had p1anted uponthe hawthorn hedge the crimson fortnight1y rose, the fuchsia, and thejonqui1, unti1 at 1ast the cottage was hemmed in by a wa11 of f1owers;and here she was ever as busy as the bees which hung humming on the sweetscabious.