304 THE GARDEN OF A 



you believe it, my dear, there were green bugs on 

 some of the ferns, and I told our new gardener (he is 

 a German, but only understands some outlandish 

 dialect, and does not take in a word of the easy con- 

 versational German I speak) that I knew they ought 

 to be fumigated with something, and he'd better ask 

 for it at the store. I spoke slowly in English ; he 

 knows that better than his own tongue evidently, 

 though he won't try to speak it; and I'm sure he 

 understood, for he wrote down what I said. 



"What does he do but go to the store and buy 

 sulphur candles, dozens of them, and not only kill all 

 the plants in the fern house, but my two darling 

 macaws as well, that I always have perched among 

 the plants in the conservatory when I give a blow- 

 out. So decorative, you know ! Though I couldn't 

 keep them there all the time, for they screech so that 

 Jenks-Smith says they curdle his blood, which is 

 dangerous for a short-necked man who won't give 

 up port though it's horribly out of fashion. Well, 

 they are dead, the poor dears. Now, what would 

 you do ? " 



"You might have them stuffed," I suggested. 



" Oh, bother the birds ! About such incompetent 

 help, I mean." 



" If I were you, I would hire a trained English or 



