I sawed one of the planks into one six-foot and two two-foot lengths, and rounded the edges of the long piece for the top. Then, on the two short lengths, we carefully drew from the picture the outline of the supports on the marble original, and went to work with rip saw, hatchet, and draw knife to carve them out. The seasoned chestnut worked hard, and we were half a day about our task. The next day we put the three pieces together with braces and long screws, planed and sandpapered the wood till we had it smooth, and then painted it with white enamel paint. While the first coat was drying, we made a deep foundation of coal ashes and flat stones for the bench to rest on, and the next afternoon, when the second coat, which Stella had applied before breakfast, was nearly dry, I hove the heavy thing on a wheelbarrow, and carted it around the road to the point where it was to go. We put a little fresh cement on the foundation stones to hold the two legs, and with Mike's aid the bench was lifted over the stone wall, through the hedge of ash-leaf maples, put in place, and levelled. Stella hovered near, with the can of paint, to cover our fingermarks and give the top a final glistening coat. "There," I cried, as the job was done, "we have our pool and our garden bench! We have some of our flowers already planted for next year! We have our bit of lawn! Let's go up the orchard to the front door and see how it looks." I left the wheelbarrow forgotten in the road, and we ran up the slope together, turned at the door, and gazed back. The pool shimmered in the afternoon sun. We could hear the water tinkling over the dam. Beyond the pool was the dark semicircle of fresh mould that was to be green grass backed by blossoms against the shrubbery, and finally, at the very rear, now stood the white bench, from this distance gleaming like marble. "Fine! It looks fine!" I cried. Stella's eyes were squinted judicially. "Oh, dear," she said, "I wish there was a cedar, a tall, slender, dark cedar, just behind the bench at either end. And, John, do you know we ought to have some goldfish in the pool?" I sighed profoundly. "You are a real gardener," said I. "Nothing is ever finished!" "I'm afraid I am," she answered. "But we will have the goldfish, won't we?" "Yes, and the cedars, too," I replied. "I'll ask Mike when is the best time to put 'em in." Mike was sure that spring was the best time, and there were some good ones up in our pasture. "Oh, dear, spring is the best time for _everything_, it seems to me, and here it's only July!" cried Stella. "Well, anyhow, I'm going to draw a plan of the pool garden, and hang it over my desk." She got paper and pencil and drew the plan, while I lay under an orchard tree listening to the tinkle of the waterfall and watching her while Buster came and licked my face. The plan appears on the following page: