Not far away, Mount Tamalpais thrusts a rugged shoulder into the sky;
and midway between is the Golden Gate, where sea mists love to
linger. From the poppy field we often see the shimmering blue of the
Pacific beyond, and the busy ships that go for ever out and in.
"We shall have great joy in our poppy field," said Bess. "Yes," said
I; "how the poor city folk will envy when they come to see us, and
how we will make all well again when we send them off with great
golden armfuls!"
"But those things will have to come down," I added, pointing to
numerous obtrusive notices (relics of the last tenant) displayed
conspicuously along the boundaries, and bearing, each and all, this
legend:
"PRIVATE GROUNDS. NO TRESPASSING."
"Why should we refuse the poor city folk a ramble over our field,
because, forsooth, they have not the advantage of our acquaintance?"
"How I abhor such things," said Bess; "the arrogant symbols of
power."
"They disgrace human nature," said I.
"They shame the generous landscape," she said, "and they are
abominable.
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