Friday – The Painter and the Clematis – May 1901

Weed in the garden a little while in the morning — weeds that ought to have been taken out long ago but there is always so much to do and the garden is everybody’s business.

Somebody nearly related to myself is painting the lintels of the house and the windows while I sit on the grass and write. I graciously approved of the colour and all is harmony until I discover he has contrived to bruise and almost dis-sever the stock of a clematis growing up the porch. It was sprouting and budding beautifully.

Now it is quite limp and faded. To do him justice, he is quite sorry for he called that clematis his having planted it with his own hands two years ago.

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