216 THE COMPLETE SPORTSMAN 



a few moments later, when I had claimed and 

 been granted a short period of repose. 



" That's all right," said George carelessly. 

 "I'll lend you my nail-brush before you go." 



" Nail-brush ? A steam-plough wouldn't make 

 any impression on my hands after this !" 



I could not help recalling the beautiful old 

 poem beginning: 



" There is a garden in her face. 

 Where roses and white Ulies grow/' 



and wondering whether any modern bard might 

 possibly be inspired to similar flights of fancy 

 by the garden in my nails; but I knew it would 

 be useless to try and explain such sentimental 

 thoughts to George. 



He was studying a small pink pamphlet he 

 had produced from his pocket, and his brow was 

 furrowed with care. 



" You go on mixing," he ordered, " while I 

 put charcoal in the bowls." 



" WOiat for ?" I asked. 



" ' To absorb impurities and keep the compost 

 sweet,' that's what it says here." He pointed 

 to the book of regulations. 



" Oh !" 



" I hope you're not letting me put in too 

 much water. It says here that about four 

 quarts to the half-bushel is enough." 



