THE CHARM OF GARDENS 



He agrees at once. " It would do them a power of 

 good." 



Realising that we are drifting from the main grievance, 

 we return hot to the bed of Carnations. We admit to 

 having but just this moment come from weeding them 

 ourselves, and in so saying we hope to make appeal to his 

 better nature. Nothing of the kind. 



" I noticed," he says, " you sp'iled some of the layers 

 where you'd a-been treading." 



When we have turned away defeated, he sinks again to 

 his mysterious task, and it seems that the ground swal- 

 lows him. 



Then again, in the early morning, he seems to have had 

 overnight talks with Mercury, or Apollo, or whoever it is 

 who arranges the weather, as he invariably greets us with 

 some curt sentence. 



" Rain afore noon," or " Wind'll be in the nor'west 

 afore night." Thereby giving us to understand that 

 he has been given a glass of nectar in some lower servants' 

 hall in Olympus, and has picked up the gossip of what 

 Jupiter has decreed for the day. We feel, as he intends 

 us to feel, vastly inferior. In fact we have given way to 

 a habit of asking his advice on certain points, which has 

 proved fatal. 



He doles out our fruit to us just as he likes, and we feel 

 quite guilty when we pick one of our own peaches from 

 our own walls. 



" I see you pick a peach last night," he says. " 'Tisn't 

 for me to say anything, but I was countin' on giving you 

 a nice dish next week." 



What is there to do but hang one's head, and plead 

 guilty ? 



Boys are his pet aversion. Whether boys have in 

 some way a fellowship with the gods (which I suspect), 

 or whether they are victoriously antagonistic, it matters 



198 



