The old arbor was trellised with grape vines, and legions of flies and bees feasted upon the musky, fragrant grapes.

The extreme end of the garden, for it was a very large one, was overgrown like an ordinary field with alfalfa.
The charm of this old orchard lay in the feeling it gave one of being greatly secluded, of being absolutely alone in a wilderness of space and silence.
I must not forget to speak of the old arbor that two summers later was the scene of the most momentous act of my childhood.

It backed against the surrounding wall, and its lattice-work was overspread with muscadine vines that the sun scorched and withered.
In this garden, for some inexplicable reason, I had the impression of being in the tropics, in the colonies of my fancy.

And in truth the tropical gardens that I saw later were filled with the same heavy fragrance and had much the same appearance.

From time to time rare butterflies, such as are not often seen elsewhere, flitted through the garden.