In the center of the grass plot stood an orange-tree, and under it, in the shade of its glossy leaves, had been placed a light wooden bench. A tall hedge of prickly thorns prevented passers-by on the narrow village street from peeping in. At one end a heavy grapevine clambered over a trellis, while at the other there were several rich clumps of myrtle that showed dark against the surrounding grass. Below the thorn hedge stood a row of bold flaunting tulips, and there were two flower-beds, one of white, the other of tall red lilies. The garden was indeed a pleasant place, and Naomi's happiest hours were spent here, whether playing peacefully alone, or amusing baby Jonas, or when the family gathered together under the orange-tree, Father and Mother, brother Ezra, baby Jonas, and herself. To be sure there were vines and flowers growing on the roof of Naomi's house, which was often used as a place to sit in the cool of the day and even to sleep when the house grew unbearably warm. For Naomi's dwelling looked like nothing so much as a square box turned upside down with only a door cut in the front and not a window to break the smooth white sides. Within, there was a single room, round which ran a bench where were kept the gay quilts, tightly rolled, which made the only beds Naomi knew. Here, too, lay the cushions upon which the family sat when at meals round the table, which was then pulled out from the wall. There was a great carved chest in which were kept the Sabbath clothes, the crescent of coins which belonged to Naomi's mother and which she wore upon her head as an ornament on festive occasions, and the long parchment rolls of Scripture in which Naomi's father took the keenest pride. At the door stood a tall water-jar with herbs floating on the top to keep the water cool. In a niche in the doorpost hung a small roll of parchment in a case. Naomi was used to seeing her father and his friends touch it reverently when passing in or out, and then kiss the fingers that had touched the Name of the Most High. She could even recite as well as Ezra the verses she knew were written there, beginning, "Hear, O Israel: Jehovah our God is one Jehovah," and ending "and thou shalt write them upon the doorposts of thy house and upon thy gates." In a small building near by stood the oven where Naomi's mother did her baking and which she used in common with several other families. It was often a meeting-place for the children, who hung about the door on baking-days hoping for hot crumbs--stout Solomon from across the road; Rachel and Rebekah, Naomi's particular friends; little Enoch, who walked with a limp and who would never grow any taller, though he might live to be ever so old. "I would that my Aunt Miriam used our oven," Naomi often thought, "for she bakes every day, and, oh, such good things as she makes."