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It was a bungalow, put up on a space cleared among a wood of young trees that was carpeted with ferns. It might have been built for a poet or a novelist or just an ordinary muscular man who loved the water and the silences and the sense of being on the edge of the world. It was a bungalow of logs, roughly constructed and saved from utter banality by being almost completely clothed in wisteria.
Many sub-alpine plants occur here, as Lecesteria, Thalictrum, rose, thistles, alder, birch, ferns, berberry, holly, anemone, strawberry, raspberry, Gnaphalium, the alpine bamboo, and oaks.
I am sorry you won't accept a bit of it." And she bent the tall ferns invitingly towards him. "I don't like cowering even before the rain," he laughed. "How it brings out the beautiful earthy smell." "One enjoys the beautiful earthy smell the better for being nearer to the earth." He did not reply. "Oh, you dear fool," she thought.
Until one day, as he walked in his garden, he suddenly came on a beautiful white maiden, whom he had never seen before. Her eyes were of the loveliest blue, her hair was so soft that it floated on the air, and her robe was white, covered with ferns done in white lace. He fell deeply in love with her at once, but she waved a warning hand, when he tried to come near.
French, Bishop of Ferns, or a brave band of townsmen like those of Waterford, Limerick, and Galway, or some remnant of mountain tribes, in Wicklow and Tipperary, the national, or "old Irish policy," had decidedly lost ground from the hour of the Nuncio's departure. Owen O'Neil and the Bishops still adhered to that national policy.
"How closely sheep bite," exclaimed Miss Laura, pointing to one that was nibbling almost at his master's feet. "Very close, and they eat a good many things that cows don't relish bitter weeds, and briars and shrubs, and the young ferns that come up in the spring." "I wish I could get hold of one of those dear little lambs," said Miss Laura. "See that sweet little blackie back in the alders.
At one end of the room a huge stone fireplace stood radiant in its summer decorations of ferns and grasses and wild-flowers. At the other end a door opened into another room, smaller and richly furnished with relics of former grandeur. Everything was clean and well kept. Every nook, shelf and corner was decked with flowers and ferns from the canyon.
The ground beneath was hidden by the most exquisite moss, and moss climbed far up the tree trunks and covered the branches. They looked, as though to guard them from the cold, they had been swathed in green velvet. Except for the pink path we were in a world of green green moss, green ferns, green tree trunks, green shadows.
Spring had come once more to Green Gables the beautiful capricious, reluctant Canadian spring, lingering along through April and May in a succession of sweet, fresh, chilly days, with pink sunsets and miracles of resurrection and growth. The maples in Lover's Lane were red budded and little curly ferns pushed up around the Dryad's Bubble. Away up in the barrens, behind Mr.
As Herbert Strange he must go on board the steamer, and so he should be called until But he was too tired to fix a date for the resumption of his own name or the taking of another. Flinging himself on his couch of moss and trailing ground-spruce, with the ferns closing over him, and the pines over them, he was soon asleep. Part II Strange
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