GARDEN PATHS 



I said very rashly, " But where are we to get flints ? " 



Of course I should have known that he had a cartload 

 of flints up his sleeve. He scraped his boots, walked 

 away, and returned with a jagged thing like one petrified 

 decayed tooth of a mammoth. This he thrust into the 

 ground, and then surveyed it with pride. 



" That," he said, " is something like." 



" Something like what ? " said I. 



" A double row of these," he said, " with here and 

 there one of a different colour would never be equalled." 



I agreed with him sarcastically. " Never," said I, 

 " would they be equalled for utter hideousness. Far 

 be it from me," I said, " to fill the hearts of my neigh- 

 bours with envy of this border." 



" You don't care for them ? " 



" Chuck it at him," said the robin. 



" I wouldn't be seen dead in a path bordered with 

 flints," I said. 



More in sorrow than in anger he removed the offend- 

 ing flint, and we resumed work. The last time we had 

 used bricks for an edging they had all cracked with 

 the frost, so that idea was left alone. Not, of course, 

 that all bricks crack, but the bricks about here seem to 

 be very soft. 



I asked if we had any tiles. 



He knew of some tiles, a lot of them, nearly buried 

 in the earth and covered with Moss. They were an old 

 line running by the path inside the wall by the paddock ; 

 the path by the rubbish heap. 



" But," he said, having the rout of the flints in his 

 mind, " it would take a man all day to dig them up, 

 and scrape them and wash them, and then he couldn't 

 say they would be any use when it was done. And 

 in a garden where an extra man " 



" I will do it myself." 



225 2F 



