I had done one whole box, it looked so neat, the little upright shoots all about three inches apart, when Jim and the Young Man came round.
He had been away for a few days and was quite anxious to know how my garden grew.
He had altered the old rhyme with which, of course, his Reverence and the Others were always pestering me; but I don't think his version was very original either—
"How does the garden so contrairy
Get on with its new Mistress Mary?"
I was seated on the corner of the one frame and the boxes were precariously placed on the edge.
The Young Man's face beamed. "I have been learning to prick out; now, let me see."
And to my horror he began to pull up my neat little plants.
"There, that's wrong, and that and that. No, that stands; but see, all these are wrong."
I gasped, "What are you doing? Do you call that pricking out? I don't."
"By Jove! you'll catch it now, my dear fellow," said Jim.