Seems to me that as long as Abel Armstrong can stride up and down in that garden of his , reciting poetry and speeches , or talking to that yaller cat of his as if it was a human , he does n't care much how the world wags on . He never had much git-up-and-git . His father was a hustler , but the family did n't take after him . They all favoured the mother 's people -- sorter shiftless and dreamy . ` Taint the way to git on in this world . '' No , good and worthy Mrs. Campbell . It was not the way to get on in your world ; but there are other worlds where getting on is estimated by different standards , and Abel Armstrong lived in one of these -- a world far beyond the ken of the thrifty Stillwater farmers and fishers . Something of this I had sensed , even before I saw him ; and that night in his garden , under a sky of smoky red , blossoming into stars above the harbour , I found a friend whose personality and philosophy were to calm and harmonize and enrich my whole existence . This sketch is my grateful tribute to one of the rarest and finest souls God ever clothed with clay . He was a tall man , somewhat ungainly of figure and homely of face . But his large , deep eyes of velvety nut-brown were very beautiful and marvellously bright and clear for a man of his age . He wore a little pointed , well-cared-for beard , innocent of gray ; but his hair was grizzled , and altogether he had the appearance of a man who had passed through many sorrows which had marked his body as well as his soul . Looking at him , I doubted Mrs. Campbell 's conclusion that he had not `` minded '' giving up college . This man had given up much and felt it deeply ; but he had outlived the pain and the blessing of sacrifice had come to him . His voice was very melodious and beautiful , and the brown hand he held out to me was peculiarly long and shapely and flexible . We went out to the garden in the scented moist air of a maritime spring evening . Behind the garden was a cloudy pine wood ; the house closed it in on the left , while in front and on the right a row of tall Lombardy poplars stood out in stately purple silhouette against the sunset sky . `` Always liked Lombardies , '' said Abel , waving a long arm at them . `` They are the trees of princesses . When I was a boy they were fashionable .
Anyone who had any pretensions to gentility had a row of XXXXX at the foot of his lawn or up his lane , or at any rate one on either side of his front door .
Armstrong Lombardies Stillwater evening left night poplars right sorter wags