"No, sir, it is not too much really," I said gravely. "I shall have to buy a heap of things besides seeds, I expect. But you shall see what I will do with it. I want that garden to be full of flowers."
His Reverence looked out of the study window. It was a bleak, windy day towards the end of November. A few brown, unhappy-looking leaves still hung on the trees; but most of them, released at last, danced riotously across the small grass plot in front of the old red brick house, until they found a damp resting-place beneath the shrubbery. The border in front looked unutterably dreary with one or two clumps of frost-bitten dahlias and some scrubby little chrysanthemums.
"Full of flowers!" The eye of faith was needed indeed.
"I don't mean before Christmas," I added, following his Reverence's eye. "But there are things that come out in the spring, you know, and perhaps they ought to be put in now. Is it a bargain?"
"Yes, Mary, it shall be a bargain. Here is the fiver. Don't waste it, but make the best of that garden. You had better consult old Griggs about bulbs and such-like. There ought to be some. I don't think the few snowdrops I saw can represent all I bought."
"They never came up. I know they didn't. I believe he planted them topsy-turvy. I suppose there is a right side up to bulbs, and if so, Griggs would certainly choose the wrong. It's his nature. Can't we get rid of him, sir? Isn't there any post besides that of gardener which he might fill?"
His Reverence will not always take my words of wisdom seriously.
"What, more posts! Why, he is clerk and grave-digger and bell-ringer! Would you like me to retire in his favour?"
"I am speaking seriously, Father. If anything is to be made of this garden it can't be done whilst that old idiot remains here."
"I fear he must remain here. I have inherited him. His position is as firm as mine."