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for the peasants and cooking the food for their
feasts.
Dear friends, of the many good things that I
wish for you, above all I would name a
rose-garden and a quilting-frame—a great, wobbly,
old-fashioned quilting-frame, with worn screw-taps and
chipped rollers, at which five or six persons can
work at the same time and hold a stitching contest,
where all hands vie with each other to produce
neat stitches on the under-side; where one
munches roasted apples, and chatters, and
“journeys to Greenland to hide the ring,” and laughs
till the squirrels out in the wood tumble headlong
to the ground from fright. A quilting-frame for
winter and for summer a rose-garden. Not a garden
on which one must lay out more money than
the pleasure is worth, but a rose-garden such as
they had in the old days, the kind you tend with
your own hands; with little brier trees crowning
the brow of the small hillocks and wreaths of
forget-me-nots encircling the foot, and where the big
floppy poppy, which sows itself, springs up
everywhere on the grassy borders, and even in the
sand-path; also there should be a sun-browned moss sofa,
overgrown with columbine and crown imperials.
Old Fru Moreus, who had three lively and industrious
daughters, was in her day the proud possessor
of many things. She owned a little cottage near the
roadside, had a nest-egg tucked away at the
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