“What a quaint idea!” said Mrs. Haddo. “You must tell me more about this by-and-by, Betty.”
Betty made no answer.
“Meanwhile,” continued Mrs. Haddo, who felt puzzled at the girl’s manner, she scarcely knew why, “I will tell a gardener to have the gardens well dug and laid out in little walks. I will also have the beds prepared, and then you must consult Birchall about the sort of things that grow best in this special plot of ground. Let me see, this is Thursday. I have no doubt Birchall could have a consultation with you on the subject this very minute if you like to see him.”
“Oh yes, please!” said Sylvia.
But Betty drew back. “Do you greatly mind if we do nothing about our gardens until next week?” she asked.
“If you prefer it, certainly,” answered Mrs. Haddo. “The plots of ground are your property while you stay at Haddo Court. You can neglect them, or you can tend them. Some of the girls of this school have very beautiful gardens, full of sweet, smiling flowers; others, again, do nothing at all in them. I never praise those who cultivate their little patch of garden-ground, and I never blame those who neglect it. It is all a matter of feeling. In my opinion, the garden is meant to be a delight; those who do not care for it miss a wonderful joy, but I don’t interfere.” As Mrs. Haddo spoke she nodded to the girls, and then walked quietly back towards the house.
“Wasn’t it funny of her to say that a garden was meant to be a delight?” said Sylvia. “Oh Betty, don’t you love her very much?”
“Don’t ask me,” said Betty, and her voice was a little choked.
“Betty,” said Sylvia, “you seem to get paler and paler. I am sure you miss Aberdeenshire.”
“Miss it!” said Betty; “miss it! Need you ask?”