156 



THE GARDEN MAGAZINE 



December, 1914 



who rarely was worked up to the same 

 pitch of enthusiasm as Horace Worth- 

 ington. 



"Possible!" the old gentleman would 

 say in a glowing voice, "it can be done! 

 We can have the color of the hybrids and 

 the hardiness and ease of culture of the 

 common privet!" 



"But we need a hedge plant, Trom- 

 mel ! Something that will be in America 

 as the yew is in England." 



For Michael O'Connor, Mr. Worth- 

 ington had an affectionate and amused 

 tolerance. He had tolerance and some- 

 thing like real pity for Henry Stirling, 

 painstaking and hardworking and absent 

 just now on business. Poor Henry! 

 He had no feeling for the beauty and 

 poetry of the business; it was all sizes 

 and prices and quotations. It could no 

 more be helped than blindness! He 

 liked Roberta. He liked her color in the 

 dingy office, very much as he liked the 

 color of the -azaleas; he liked her eager 

 interest in the plants and he used to 

 lend her books — Rep ton, and Gilpin, and 

 Evelyn's Diary, and a fat, compara- 

 tively modern book, "L'Art de Jar din," 

 of Andre's (for its excellent account of 

 Le Notre) also Robinson's "English 

 Flower Garden" with the caution that 

 he was a bit gone mad over the " natural- 

 istic" and she must not believe him too 

 completely. 



And Roberta used to take them home 

 to the old house until Aunt Adelaide 

 became quite wildly interested. She 

 used to read them while Roberta was at 

 the office. She liked particularly the 

 elegance of the Le Notre gardens, and 

 William Robinson and the emphasis 

 he laid on gardening being so lovely 

 and suitable a concern of woman. She 

 first began to be relieved that Roberta 

 was interested in something so safe and 

 womanly, and then she grew interested 

 in her own account. 



Mr. Worthington's usual programme, 

 after his glance at the clock and his 

 threatened reprimand for Peregrine, was 

 to hand to the young secretary part of 

 the mail and retire into his private office 

 with such of the letters as interested him 

 or needed his attention. After an hour 

 or so he would dictate a bit, and then go 

 out to see the azaleas or some other 

 plants in which he was engrossed, walk 

 about the gardens and survey the work. 



He had been gone but a short time 

 when the door opened and on the thres- 

 hold appeared Paul Fielding, his shock 

 of yellow hair bared to the morning sun. 



"Is Mr. Worthington in, and may I 

 see him? " he asked. 



Miss Davenant looked up from the 

 pile of orders she was copying rapidly, 

 flushed a little, for she flushed rather 

 easilv. 



"He has just gone out," she answered, 

 "you'll find him in the azalea plantation." 



Young Fielding thanked her and with- 

 drew. But she heard more of him 

 later. 



"I met a most estimable young man," 

 Mr. Worthington reported when he 

 came in at almost noon, for Paul had 

 evidently found him, "young Fielding, 

 a son of Major Carlton Fielding of 

 South Carolina, the Fieldings of "Par- 

 adise Park" on the Cooper. It was his 

 great grandfather, Carlton Fielding, who 

 brought over the first Camellia japohica, 

 and was very well known at Kew. The 

 largest specimens of Camellia japonica 

 in the country are at Paradise Park and 

 this young man says the original plant 

 is still living, a hundred and fifty years 

 old. Very interesting." 



"Also, he tells me, that his father has 

 naturalized the Indian azaleas at Para- 

 dise Park. The young man is interested 

 in landscape gardening and wishes to 

 learn our Northern plants; his father 

 advised him to visit here. So, if you 

 will tell Michael and the other foremen 

 to afford him any information possible, 

 we shall be doing our duty by him. So 

 few of the young men now-a-days have 

 any interest in plants!" sighed Mr. 

 Horace Worthington regretfully. 



Miss Davenant heard more of the 

 young man later, when Michael O'Con- 

 nor came in at noon. 



"Who's the lad the boss says we must 

 lind a hilpin' hand on the path av' 

 larnin' — him that was here this mornin', 

 leggy as badly grown Rose of Sharon, 

 wid the hair like a corn-shock? " 



"Mr. Fielding," she answered, "Mr. 

 Paul Fielding of Paradise Park, South 

 Carolina, whose great-great-grandfather 

 imported the first Camellia japonica." 



"He did, did he? " questioned Michael, 

 "And what's to become of my little 

 man? The foinest man at buying cam- 

 ellias that America has projuced?" 



Roberta laughed. "I don't see how 

 anything can happen to Mr. Herford, 

 Michael, so long as you take such care 

 of him." 



"'Tis well I do," said Michael, "but 

 what's the long lad doin' here?" 



"He's been studying landscape gar- 

 dening and wants to learn plants." 



"Larn plants," repeated Michael. 

 "If he spiles things for my little man, 

 I'll larn him," he said grimly. 



Chapter VII 



If Peregrine Pink had a poor sense 

 of time, Mr. Maurice Herford's was mar- 

 vellously acute. 



Exactly at 4:30 Mr. Horace Worthing- 

 ton was driven home. Miss Davenant 

 stayed usually until nearly six. She 

 liked having the place to herself and get- 



ting the work arranged clearly for the 

 next day. 



Rarely did a customer come late in 

 the afternoon, for folk who came to Rose- 

 berry Gardens came usually expecting 

 to spend an hour or so among the plants 

 and came earlier — all except Mr. Maur- 

 ice J. Herford. Exactly five minutes 

 after Mr. Worthington's carriage had 

 rolled down the road toward the village, 

 Mr. Harford would appear coming along 

 the side road from the direction of the 

 Philadelphia turnpike. 



Mr. Herford was an old friend of 

 Michael. " 'Tis twinty years," said 

 Michael, "since Mr. Maurice Herford's 

 been comin' to Roseberry Gardens and 

 twice the season, and he's bought well 

 from the first. Says he, 'There's no 

 place I'd rather be: and if I had the 

 sinse to do the wor-rk', says he, 'I'd ask 

 f'r a job to-morrow.'" 



Maurice Herford was wealthy — very 

 wealthy — a bachelor of forty odd and 

 a man of leisure. He travelled every 

 summer and belonged to one fashionable 

 and exclusive club in the city, but that 

 was all, for he had an intense love for 

 plants. Precisely what the bond was, 

 it would be hard to say, but the wealthy 

 recluse really loved Michael O'Connor. 

 I believe his most vivid happiness was 

 to come out to Roseberry Gardens, walk 

 about the delightful old place and sit 

 by the greenhouse benches and talk with 

 Michael O'Connor of plants, or of Irish 

 politics. Intensly "Home Rule" was 

 Michael, and it was but little use he had 

 for the English administration. 



"Idle ould woman!" he would say of 

 the late Queen Victoria. 



" 'Tis an idle ould woman, she is, wid 

 a large family! And by and by a little 

 juke is born somewhere off and thin — 

 does he aim his living? Is he thrained 

 to a trade, seeing that the job av King 

 av England is far from him. Not at 

 all — at all! As soon as iver he is born 

 the poor Irish is taxed for his mainten- 

 ance! And thin, there is another little 

 juke, for ivry wan of the ould woman's 

 children has children a-plenty, and again 

 the poor Irish is taxed. 



"Of what use is it? 'Tis better to 

 support a President and a District 

 Leader, for the District Leader is Irish, 

 an' 'tis the Irish come in on some av the 

 jobs inst'id of exclusively on the taxes." 



Michael could never be done talking 

 of the charms and virtues of his adored 

 Maurice J. Herford. 



"Foinest little man that ever was," 

 Michael would say. " 'Tis twinty years 

 that he's been buying plants here. 

 Twice a season he used to come. 'Tis 

 twice a week since last September. 

 There's no wan buys like him. 

 {To be continued) 



