THE CHARM OF GARDENS 



as if signalling for fine weather. Plumb to earth my 

 thoughts came. 



" About something to edge with ? " 



Almost before I had time to speak, he continued. 

 I had begun with the word, " Box." • 



Every one knows what it is to come on the rocks 

 in the soil of a gardener's mind. It is, as a rule, some 

 old idea taken deep root which forms a rock of 

 resistance. Sometimes it is a rock idea about taking 

 Geranium cuttings, sometimes an idea about the time 

 for pruning fruit trees or the method of pruning them, 

 sometimes it concerns certain plants which he refuses to 

 allow will live in the garden and so lets them die. One 

 is never quite certain when or how the objection will 

 arise. I had sent out a feeler for Box and I struck a rock. 



" Box ! ! " he said in a voice of awe, as if the gods 

 overhearing would be angry. " Where am I to get 

 Box from ? And if I was to get Box, Box don't grow 

 so high," — he held his hand a mustard seed height from 

 the ground — " not in ten years. It's awkward stuff, 

 Box, to deal with. In a garden this size that needs an 

 extra man — and plenty of work for a boy too, when all 

 these leaves is about — growing hedges of Box or what 

 not is not possible. Not that I have anything to say 

 against Box, far from it. No. It looks well in some 

 places, but if you was to ask me, sir, I think it'ud be 

 the ruin of this Rosebed." 



Said the robin to me, " The man's mad." 



I answered quickly, " It was merely a sudden idea 

 of mine." 



He relapsed into silence for a moment. Then he said, 

 " flints." 



I knew it was to be a battle. I hate flints. Nasty, 

 ugly, tiresome eyesores. Gardeners love flints just as 

 many of them love Laurels and Ivy. 



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