94 
T H E G A R I) E N M A G A Z I N E 
March, 1 !) 1 5 
Once an irate dealer came out, a man 
who posed as a nurseryman although his 
ground space was but a 7 x 9 down-town 
office. The Roseberry Garden tag had 
been left on the plants; he had ordered 
it omitted. The plants must look as if 
they came from his nursery. 
“Do see him, Michael!” begged Miss 
Davenant. “He’s very angry!” 
“Indeed I will,” said Michael, and 
went out to meet the wrathful dealer 
with his most beaming smile. 
“Why, Mister Kelly!” he said. “In- 
deed, and it’s foine to see you. And 
how well yore looking. And how is Mrs. 
Kelly and the foine little b’y that was 
here wicl you last year? ’Tis well I 
hope they are. And ar-re ye goin’ to 
have the b’y in the business like y’rself?” 
And the angry dealer was smiling 
back before he realized it, and all he said 
by way of complaint was — and that 
apologetically — “There was a-er-little 
mistake in the last order.” 
“How did you do it, Michael?” asked 
Roberta when Kelly was gone. 
Michael grinned complacently. 
“Molasses,” he said.” ^ N 
’Tis simple, but it wor-rks.” 
Chapter X 
Twice a week all through 
the busy season, with un- 
failing regularity, exactly 
five minutes after Mr. 
Worthington’s scheduled departure, did 
Mr. Maurice J. Herford appear at Rose- 
berry Gardens. 
If the circumstances were favorable 
he bought plants with joy and abandon, 
his only difficulty being where to send 
them. 
Sometimes, though rarely, the cir- 
cumstances were unfavorable. Once the 
copper-haired secretary was too busy 
with another client to do more than look 
up and nod. Then Mr. Herford re- 
entered his carriage and drove home. 
Once, Mr. Worthington was delayed in 
leaving, and recognizing the occupant 
of the approaching carriage, bade Pere- 
grine take back the coupe and bring it 
again at five. 
“I seem to have missed your visits 
so often,” he said to Mr. Herford, who 
was “very sorry.” 
And the two walked about the azalea 
plantation discussing English horti- 
culture and the dearth of American 
writers thereon, owing, in Mr. Worthing- 
ton’s opinion, to the dearth of expert 
garden knowledge among American 
clergymen; for in England the clergy 
form a most useful class who write both 
intelligently and pleasantly about gar- 
dens. Men like Dean Hole, for ex- 
ample. And Mr. Herford agreed with 
him and deplored the lack, but he left 
no large sized order to cheer the heart 
of Michael. 
Usually, however, Michael had acted 
the part of stage manager for his favorite 
so skilfully that such casualties were 
avoided. 
“Mr. Herford will be here this after- 
noon,” he announced impressively to 
Roberta one morning in late May. 
“Well,” she said indifferently, “that 
should make you happy Michael.” 
“It does that,” he said, “except that 
to-day, f’r the life of me, I can’t attend 
to him properly! 
“ ’Tis a shame too, the foine man he is. 
Mr. Sanger, the archytect, will be out 
here till late, and Jimmy Frear, of Charles 
Frear & Sons, the big florists. ’Tis 
har’rd! 
“I wonder,” he exclaimed, his face 
lighting up, “I wonder if you c’u’dn’t do 
it? There’s none of the min I’d trust 
wid the job. But the plants ar-re all 
marked. T’w’d be aisy for wan that 
knows thim so well as you! 
“Ye could take him t’rough the 
azaleas, an’ over by the hedge is some 
marked f’r him. Just show thim to him 
and put thim down if they’re what he 
wants. And thin ye take him down to 
the End Entirely (and that’s a plisant 
walk in the afternoon), and there’s four 
golden retinisporas marked f’r him 
there. And thin, ye take him along by 
the woods to the end av the dogwoods 
(and that's a plisant walk), till ye come 
to some red flowering dogwoods, wid 
his tag. And thin, ye bring him along 
to the farm road, and just before ye get 
there is some specimen rhodydendrons 
(and that’s a plisant walk). I’m sure 
ye’ll not mind it, Miss Davenant! In- 
deed, I’d take him if I c’u’d, but ye can 
see f’r yerself, ’tis a long way round and 
I’ll be on me old feet all day— — 
“Michael!” said Roberta, “Mr. Her- 
ford is your client.” 
But just then Mr. Worthington came 
in. 
“I was just explainin’ to Miss Dave- 
nant,” said Michael guilelessly, “where 
were the plants I’d marked f’r Mr. 
Herford. ’Tis scattered all over the 
place they are, and I’m afraid I’ll not 
have time to take him wid Mr. Sanger 
to be here all the afternoon. ’Tis well 
some one should know their location. 
I don’t like to disapp’int him!” 
Mr. Worthington nodded approvingly. 
But Roberta scowled at Michael. None 
the less, that afternoon, with the exact- 
ness of an actor entering at his cue, Mr. 
Herford made his appearance. It was 
a bit earlier than usual. Mr. Worthing- 
ton, Matthew Sanger, and Frear, the 
florist, were in the office when he entered. 
Michael turned with a troubled look to 
Mr. Worthington. 
•“C’u’d ye spare Miss Davenant this 
afternoon? She’s the only wan but 
meself that knows where ar’re the plants 
I’ve marked f’r Mr. Herford. I’ve 
promised Mr. Sanger — Frear is going wid 
Brian now, but I’ll go over his list wid 
him later. I’m sorry to trouble ” 
“Surely, as far as I’m concerned,” 
responded the old gentleman. “It is 
a pleasant afternoon; the other work 
can wait.” 
So Roberta picked up her hat and 
note book and went out into the late 
sunshine, giving a look of reproach to 
Michael, but he smiled back cheerfully. 
She smiled in spite of herself with 
amused vexation. 
Roberta really liked Mr. Herford. 
She would have liked him better if 
Michael had been less assiduous, but 
Maurice Herford himself had little to do 
with Michael’s deep laid schemes. He 
only obeyed his mentor literally and 
exactly. 
Roberta rather liked his shyness and 
the sudden pleasure that would light his 
face at the sight of a rarely lovely plant. 
She liked his detachment, liked the way 
he never intruded or insisted and never 
brought in the personal. She was as 
ignorant as the plants themselves, that 
he liked to get her head in certain lights 
and deliberately arranged for it. He 
could talk interestingly also, and used 
to tell her about famous English gardens, 
of Hampton Court, of Haddon Hall, of 
the lovely little private gardens with the 
quiet-flowing Thames at their backs. 
So the two went in and out among the 
plants, now brushing against the huge 
tree peonies of Japan, now bending over 
gorgeous irises, very rainbows in color, 
and past acre after acre of splendid 
rhododendrons just coming into bloom, 
with the sheer happiness that comes to 
all real flower lovers when they are 
among them. 
To real flower lovers there is as little 
necessity for chatter in a garden as to a 
music lover there is the need of gossip 
at a concert. It is enough to drink in 
the beauty. 
{To be continued) 
