The Hermit's Cave

Transcriber's note: Unusual and inconsistent spelling is as printed.
CHAPTER
IT was a mild day towards the end of February; and though so early in the year, spring flowers were in full bloom in the sheltered gardens which surrounded Afton Hall.
Bright yellow crocuses, like regiments of plucky little soldiers in amber uniform, with here and there clumps of mauve or white, bordered the flower-beds; whilst daffodils reared their stately golden heads in the gentle breeze, and snowdrops peeped modestly from amongst their gorgeously-apparelled neighbours.
The patch of ground in front of the side of the house that faced the west was particularly productive, being sheltered from the east wind; and as old John Bawdon, the gardener, carefully turned over the brown earth with his spade on this promising spring morning, he made a mental picture of the garden as he hoped to see it in the summer.
'Tis beautiful soil, he muttered; just the right sort for them young carnation plants. They'll make a fine show by-and-by!
John! cried a young, imperious voice. John! what are you talking about, all to yourself?
The gardener turned his brown, weather-beaten countenance towards the speaker, a boy of about seven years old, whose handsome face was ruddy and glowing with perfect health.
I was saying how fine the carnations will look in the summer, please God.
Why do you say 'please God'? asked the child, laughing. You know, John, you always do say it, and it does sound so funny.
Well, Master Theodore, was the reply, in rather injured tones, I suppose it is as God pleases, anyway. I may dig, and plant, and prune, and tend the garden with all my strength, but it's all no good if God doesn't help. That's my experience, sir, and I've lived nigh upon seventy years, and more than fifty of those years I've been working in these here gardens. You don't find many of my sort now-a-days, he added with conscious pride. More than half a century I've served your family, Master Theodore, as I've told you many times. I mind when your grandfather, who's dead and gone, was a lad; we were boys together. I mind when your father was born, and I mind the night you came into the world. Yes, I recollect some changes.