CHAPTER IV 



THE ADMIRAL'S TEA-PARTY 



Our College term ends about a week before Christ- 

 mas. I am reminded of this as I sit at breakfast, 

 whilst the sun is slowly rising above the tall Beacon 

 of Downland across the valley, for two little, neat 

 pale-blue envelopes are handed to me by the maid. 

 They bear no postmark and come evidently from 

 students. Each contains a simply-worded letter 

 of thanks for a year spent at work in the gardens, 

 a year, I am assured, that will never be forgotten, 

 as it has brought, in each case, not only happy 

 playtime but new interests in life and the possi- 

 bility of future gardening careers. The little notes 

 both end with such touching words of thanks that 

 they leave me with a distressed feeling of the small 

 amount that I have personally been able to offer 

 or give in the shape of help or lectures, an almost 

 guilty sensation, in fact, of being the recipient of 

 an undue amount of gratitude. The youthfully 

 genuine words " awfully happy " are proof, how- 

 ever, that the writers mean what they say, and it 

 is with evident, true regret that they remind me 

 this is the last day upon which they will work here, 

 as both are called away to fulfil temporarily home 

 duties before they begin serious professional work. 



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