Even in the days before my teacher came, I used to feel along the square stiff boxwood hedges, and, guided by the sense of smell, would find the first violets and lilies. There, too, after a fit of temper, I went to find comfort and to hide my hot face in the cool leaves and grass. What joy it was to lose myself in that garden of flowers, to wander happily from spot to spot, until, coming suddenly upon a beautiful vine, I recognized it by its leaves and blossoms, and knew it was the vine which covered the tumble-down summer-house at the farther end of the garden! Here, also, were trailing clematis, drooping jessamine, and some rare sweet flowers called butterfly lilies, because their fragile petals resemble butterflies' wings. But the roses—they were loveliest of all. Never have I found in the greenhouses of the North such heart-satisfying roses as the climbing roses of my southern home. They used to hang in long festoons from our porch, filling the whole air with their fragrance, untainted by any earthysmell; and in the early morning, washed in the dew, they felt so soft, so pure, I could not help wondering if they did not resemble the asphodels of God's garden.

The   beginning   of   my   life   was   simple   and   much   like   every   other   little   life.   I   came,   I   saw,   I   conquered,   as   the   first   baby   in   the   family   always   does.   There   was   the   usual   amount   of   discussion   as   to   a   name   for   me.   The   first   baby   in   the   family   was   not   to   be   lightly   named,   every   one   was   emphatic   about   that.   My   father   suggested   the   name   of   Mildred   Campbell,   an   ancestor   whom   he   highly   esteemed,   and   he   declined   to   take   any   further   part   in   the   discussion.   My   mother   solved   the   problem   by   giving   it   as   her   wish   that   I   should   be   called   after   her   mother,   whose   maiden   name   was   Helen   Everett.   But   in   the   excitement   of   carrying   me   to   church   my   father   lost   the   name   on   the   way,   very   naturally,   since   it   was   one   in   which   he   had   declined   to   have   a   part.   When   the   minister   asked   him   for   it,   he   just   remembered   that   it   had   been   decided   to   call   me   after   my   grandmother,   and   he   gave   her   name   as   Helen   Adams.