THE OLYMPIAN ASPECT 



follies. We remonstrate a question of weeds, perhaps, 

 and are listened to with incredulous wonder. 



" Weeds ! " says the being, " weeds ! " 



He emerges more completely from the bush, showing a 

 hand occupied with a lot of little twigs, and a knife rather 

 like himself to look at not too sharp. 



As if a voice from the unknown had wafted over the 

 desert, he stands in wonder, looking reproachfully at 

 those who have interrupted his toil. 



" The weather makes them grow." Of course it does. 

 We knew that. We did not come here to call Walter 

 to ask him what made weeds grow, but to know why he 

 had not weeded, at our special request, the Carnation 

 border. 



From a cavernous pocket in a much-mended pair of 

 trousers of a shape never designed by mortal hands, he 

 produces a quantity of felt strips, and some wall nails. 



We repeat our original suggestion, that the Carnation 

 border is choked with weeds. 



" So it be ! " 



Then, after the great being has taken observations of 

 the sky, causing him to screw up one eye and wag his 

 head sagely as if he had communication with the unseen 

 powers, he admits that he has been watering the green- 

 house. 



" The Vines take a deal o' time about now." 



It would be useless to remark to this calm person that 

 we found, only yesterday, a dozen plants dying in the 

 greenhouse, and all for want of water. But, from a sort 

 of foolhardy courage, we do say as much. 



" Yes," says the immortal, " they need a power of 

 water. A good drop is no good." 



We venture to remonstrate with him, saying, in a few 

 well chosen words, that it would be useful of him, then, 

 to give them " a good watering while he was about it." 



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