[Synopsis of preceding chapters: Roseberry Gardens is the name of a nursery of the old type, with azaleas, magnolias, etc., in profusion. The owner, Mr. Worthington, is a stately, scholarly 

 gentleman of the old school, yet an advanced thinker, a plant lover always anxious to succeed with new introductions. Rudolph Trommel, the foreman, a Swiss, grows plants rather because he loves 

 them than from any business instinct, and indeed takes exception to Michael's having sold a certain plant because it was such a fine specimen. He also is a shrewd judge of human nature. Among 

 the customers is Maurice J. Herford, a dilletante admirer of plants, an artist. Roberta Davenant is secretary to Mr. Worthington and the protege of old Rudolph Trommel, through whose intro- 

 duction she procured the position and who is constantly instructing her in garden craft and plant" knowledge. From time to time Michael so arranges things that Roberta has to act as guide and 

 saleswoman to Maurice Herford. Roberta is self reliant, unconventional and somewhat jolts the old time residents of the place. Paul Fielding, a landscape student and relative of Major Pomerane, 

 a resident, is another visitor to the Nursery. He would go horseback riding with Roberta in the early mornings, to the secret delight of the Major, who twits his cousin with remarks concerning 

 Roberta's interest in the plants of the Nursery and of Maurice's interest in those same plants! One August day Michael suggests teaching Roberta how to bud and incidentally talks about the 

 popular use of a few of the commonest hedge plants to the neglect of others better but less used. Settling down to the work of budding, Michael becomes reminiscent and tells of how a year ago 

 Mr. Herford came, suggesting he go with him to Europe. The lesson in budding progresses. Paul Fielding, discouraged by Roberta's indifference, receives advice from his cousin, Major Pomerane. 

 Paul visits Roseberry Gardens the following morning and to his delight is asked by Roberta to help her in making an inventory of the plants in the nursery. He seizes the opportunity to tell her of 

 his southern home. Roberta is interested. Mr. Worthington returns from abroad and he and Mr. Trommel visit the houses. Meanwhile the inventory is completed. Roberta and Mr. 

 Worthington are talking. 



"Our landscape men should go to the poets," he 

 would say impatiently, "not only for inspiration, 

 but for ideas. People, especially Americans, make 

 the mistake of thinking that because a poet's ex- 

 pression is beautiful, his ideas are necessarily un- 

 sound and impractical — yet the poet's is the clearest 

 vision. 



"Wordsworth and Walter Scott were admirable 

 gardeners; Tennyson had a good sense of proportion; 

 then there is Knight's "Landscape, " which every park 

 commissioner should read. I am not so sure about 

 Shelley; exquisite as is his poetry, and at home as he 

 was in sky and wind and cloud, he was curiously un- 

 observing in the matter of plants. In that other- 

 wise beautiful poem, 'The Sensitive Plant,' you will 

 remember that the lady who removed from the gar- 

 den the destructive insects, merely carried them to 

 another place and there liberated them to commit 

 further depredations. 



'The poor banished insects whose intent 

 Although they did ill was innocent' 



He let his humanitarianism run away with the hor- 

 ticulture! Robert Browning, you remember, first 

 became aware he was a poet when sitting under a 

 large copper beech and reading in the moonlight 

 from Keats and Shelley. Undoubtedly Camber- 

 well was not an artistically ideal suburb for a young 

 poet, but who in our suburbs would think of reading 

 Keats or Shelley on an electric-lighted porch bare 

 to the street, and the only tree in sight a miserable 

 Carolina poplar! 



"Who plants beeches now? And it is the most 

 poetic and mystic of trees, linked with myth 

 and poetry for centuries. Beside it the Norway 

 maple is a raw, cheap edition of the newest, most 

 worthless novel compared to the 'Divina Corn- 

 media'!" 



The young secretary, however, on this particular 

 morning, was not so keenly distressed at the lack 

 of poetic imagination among landscape gardeners 

 as she possibly should have been. It was too exqui- 

 site a morning. The broad grass paths were heavy 

 with dew and wet her thick boots, and the heavily 

 hung jewelled branches of the shrub brushed her 

 coat as she walked along rapidly, hands thrust 

 deep in her capacious pockets. At the end of the 

 azalea plantation, she turned and passed through 

 an opening in the hedge, and came suddenly on 

 young Mr. Fielding, of Paradise Park, South 

 Carolina. 



Young Mr. Fielding also had been early afield, for 

 his riding boots were wet and in his coat was a bit 

 of symplocos berry. He pulled off his cap, baring 

 the shock of light hair to the morning sunshine. 



"Good morning!" he said happily, his gray 

 eyes lighting with pleasure. "So you also are out 

 early?" 



"Catching the worm," said Roberta. "Are you 



specimen hunting, Mr. Fielding? The stock taking 

 is over." 



The young man laughed and shook his head. 

 " Jes' 'loungin' 'round an' suffrin',' likeBr'er Tarry- 

 pin," said he. 



Roberta laughed also — Paul Fielding's laugh was 

 infectious. "You should quote Dr. Watts instead 

 of Uncle Remus; that's what Aunt Adelaide would 

 tell you. 'How doth the little busy bee improve 

 each shining hour!' That's what I used to be told 

 when I went off in the early mornings and came back 

 with wet shoes and wet frock instead of using the 

 time at my lessons!" 



"Dear Miss Davenant," said Paulj "there are 

 some hours that need no improvement, and this is 

 one of them. It's a great mistake to improve any- 

 thing that's already shining! Aren't you gardener 

 enough for that? I rode out on Captain; he's fas- 

 tened over there by Washington's residence. We 

 went round by the edge of the marshes, and all the 

 way I was hoping I'd find you just here. And I 

 have. And it's a perfect morning. I met you here 

 in May. Do you remember? And you were sing- 

 ing." 



Roberta nodded. "It's a bad habit of mine," she 

 said. 



"Mighty pretty habit," said Fielding. And I re- 

 member what you were singing." He chanted cheer- 

 fully a scrap of the Flower Song, 



" Reveillez a sou ame le secret de ma flamme." 



And see, I have them for you — blessed dew on them 

 and all. Will you have them?" 



He held out two fringed gentians, looking at her 

 with such sudden intensity of feeling that the girl 

 flushed and hesitated. 



"You had the flowers last time; it's far more cor- 

 rect this way," he hastened to reassure her in his most 

 casual tones. "Miss Adelaide would say so." He 

 spoke lightly. 



Roberta took the gentians and held them, look- 

 ing at their wonderful color. She could never quite 

 make out Fielding. The Southerner in her took all 

 attempts at love-making lightly and carelessly, and 

 the New Englander in her held that such was a very 

 serious thing — as serious as the Day of Judgment — 

 so that to feel deeply and speak lightly was to her 

 a difficult thing to understand. 



"They are lovely," she said, looking at the gen- 

 tians, "the most beautiful color that ever was made 

 — the sea and the sky and the night " 



Paul Fielding did not speak for a few moments, 

 then he said, 



"I'm off to my native haunts, Miss Davenant — ■ 

 going down to Paradise Park the end of the week. 

 This is nice, mighty nice, but it's dalliance. I'm 

 going back to the rice fields and the big oaks, and 

 I'm going to make that blessed old wilderness of a 

 place do something beside blossom like a rose. It's 



going to be industrious — like me — and produce a 

 comfortable livehood. There's going to be real 

 Northern energy down there!" 



"We've no monopoly on energy," laughed Ro- 

 berta. 



"No, but you like to be uncomfortable and to 

 leave out all the pretty things of life, or else you 

 don't feel that you're working seriously. That's 

 what I'm going to do; leave out the pretty things." 



Roberta smiled. "I'm sorry you are going," she 

 said. 



"Miss Adelaide's coming down for Christmas!" 



"What!" exclaimed Roberta. 



"Yes, she is," asserted Paul Fielding. "Just you 

 ask her! She's coming down to see the old planta- 

 tion, and I've promised her a recipe for a conserve 

 of roses, and she's going to show us how marmalade 

 should be made." 



"Aunt Adelaide!" exclaimed Roberta, incred- 

 ulously. 



"Aunt Adelaide," repeated Fielding. "You've 

 no idea how adventurous Miss Adelaide can be. 

 Maybe I'll have her riding and 'coon hunting before 

 her visit is over! And Lordy! I've got to go down 

 now to try if I can get old Calliope to have the house 

 sufficiently spic and span. You'd better come and 

 look after Miss Adelaide," he said casually. "I've 

 a horse that you'd like — Roanoke — and 'coon hunt- 

 ing by torchlight 's right good fun." 



"Is it?" said Roberta doubtfully. 



"Oh, yes," said Fielding, eagerly, "and it would 

 be so instructive! You can find out lots about early 

 experiments in indigo. The first Botanic Garden in 

 the country was at Charleston. And up the river 

 is all that's left of the stockade wall of Old Dorches- 

 ter, where your Puritans came down two centuries 

 ago to uplift us and they got tired and went back. 

 There's really abundant horticultural interest," he 

 said gravely. 



"I'll think about it," answered Roberta, but what 

 she thought made her flush a little, and a meddle- 

 some breeze caught a lock of her bronze hair and 

 blew it across her face. 



The young fellow thrust both hands in his pockets 

 to combat the sudden impulse to take the g : rl in his 

 arms and kiss her flushed cheeks where the bright 

 hair rested. " 'The Place and the One,' " he said to 

 himself, "but it isn't the 'Time.' " A moment later 

 he lifted her hand, the right hand that held the 

 gentians, and kissed the fingers. "I came out to 

 say 'goodbye,' " said he. "Will you wish me luck 

 with the old plantation?" 



"The best in the world," said she. 



"If you really wish it, I shall have it," said he "and 

 I thank you." He turned and went quickly through 

 the opening in the hedge. 



Roberta stood looking at the gentians in her 

 hands; then she went slowly back to the office. 

 (To be continued) 



