Ashurst Rectory, in a green seclusion of vines and creepers, stood close to the lane,--Strawberry Lane it was called, because of a tradition that wild strawberries grew there.

The richness of the garden was scarcely kept in bounds by its high fence; the tops of the bushes looked over it, and climbing roses shed their petals on the path below, and cherries, blossoms, and fruit were picked by the passer-by.

"There is enough for us inside," said the rector.
The house itself was of gray stone, which seemed to have caught, where it was not hidden by Virginia creepers and wistaria, the mellow coloring of the sunset light, which flooded it from a gap in the western hills.

Its dormer-windows, their roofs like brown caps bent about their ears, had lattices opening outward; and from one of these Lois Howe, on the evening of Helen's wedding day, had seen her father wandering about the garden, with the red setter at his heels, and had gone down to join him.
"I wonder," she said, as she wound her round young arm in his, which was behind him, and held his stick, "if John Ward has a garden?
I hope so; Helen is so fond of flowers.

But he never said anything about it; he just went around as though he was in a dream.