picture: Jean Henri Martin Garden party
(fragment )
And, after all, the weather was ideal. If they had custom one day would not have been more perfect for the garden party. No wind, warm, the sky without a cloud. As sometimes happens in early summer, pale golden haze veiled, just the blue. The gardener had been up since dawn, mowing the lawn and sweeping up the grass and the dark flat rosettes where they had been the margaritas seemed to shine. As for the roses, there was no denying that they understood that roses are the only flowers that impress people at a party in the garden, the only flowers that all interested. Hundreds, literally hundreds were open at night, and green bushes were bent as if they had visited the archangels.
No lunch was over when the men came up the tent.
- Mom, where to put the tent?
"My dear child, it is useless to ask. I decided that this year the girls take care of everything. Forget that I am the mother. Treat me like a guest of honor.
But Meg could not watch the men. Before lunch, washed his head, and sat drinking coffee, wearing a green turban, with a dark wet curl glued to each cheek. "You'll to go, Laura, you who are artistic.
There was Laura, with her bread and butter on hand. It's so delightful to find an excuse to eat out, and also loved to fix things, found he could make them both better than anyone else.
Four men in shirt sleeves were together in a garden path. They carried sticks covered with rolls of cloth, and large boxes of tools at the back. Were impressive. Laura would have liked not to have that piece of bread and butter on hand, but neither had to put it, or it could swallow whole. She blushed and tried to look very serious and a little short sighted when it came to them.
"Good morning" he said, imitating the voice of his mother.
But it turned out so horribly concerned that he was ashamed, and stammered like a little girl.
- Oh, you come ...! Is the tent?
"Yes, ma'am," replied the highest of all, a skinny guy, freckled, changing your toolbox side, pushing back his straw hat and smiling. It is for that.
His smile was so spontaneous, so friendly, that Laura said. What beautiful eyes she had! Small, but a blue so dark! He looked at the others who were also smiling. Seemed to say: "Cheer up, we're not going to eat!" What workers
so cute! Y what a beautiful morning!
Already the men had loaded the poles and were fixing the site. Only the high left behind. He leaned over, pressed a lavender wand, took his thumb and forefinger to his nose and inhaled the perfume. When Laura saw the gesture was amazed that the man she liked one thing, he liked the scent of lavender. How many men she knew who had done such a thing? Oh, how nice are the workers! Why workers can not have friends instead of the stupid boys who danced with and who came to dinner on Sunday? Be understood much better with men and ... To test how happy
was tall and show the how comfortable she felt, and how despised stupid conventions, Laura took a big bite of his bread and butter, watching carefully.
It felt like a small working.
Katherine Mansfield
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