“Oh, we can’t put in any more, sir.”
“What? Why not? I particularly want two of those wild vines to be put in.”
“Did put ’em in before you come out this morning, sir, and the ’suckle and passion-flowers too. They’ll be up a-top of the roof before we know where we are.”
My father looked pleased, and turned to examine the young plants that had been set.
“Does me good, Master George, to see the captain coming round as he is. Quite takes to the garden again. But dear, dear! It’s in a melancholy state.”
“Nonsense!” I cried; “why, it’s wonderful how well it looks.”
“Wonderful? Well, sir, I wouldn’t have thought you could talk in that way of such a wilderness. Why, even old Han there, in his broken English savage way, said he was ashamed of it.”
“Oh, well, I’m not,” I said. “It’s glorious to be able to get back once more to the dear old place. I say, though, you don’t want Pomp any longer?”
“Ah, but I do, sir. Why?”
“I want to row up and have a bit of fishing. It does seem so long since I’ve had a turn.”