Miss Miranda Sawyer’s old-fashioned garden was the pleasantest spot in Riverboro on a sunny July morning. The rich color of the brick house gleamed and glowed through the shade of the elms and maples. Luxuriant hop-vines clambered up the lightning-rods and waterspouts, hanging their delicate clusters here and there in graceful profusion. Woodbine transformed the old shed and tool-house to things of beauty, and the flower-beds themselves were the prettiest and most fragrant in all the countryside. A row of dahlias ran directly around the garden spot; dahlias scarlet, gold, and variegated. In the very centre was a round plot where the upturned faces of a thousand pansies smiled amid their leaves, and in the four corners were triangular blocks of sweet phlox over which the butterflies fluttered unceasingly…