“Oh yes,” said Mary; “I have been expecting this; I always knew that Bertha was not really indolent. Now she will no longer sigh after
The coffee plains, the orange groves,
And flow’ry vales she so much loves.”
“And now,” said Frederick, “to encourage the poor child, we must give her a little bit of ground rent free. I will give her a bed in my territory.”
“And I—and I,” said each; “we must all contribute to her garden.” “And so must I too,” said little Grace; “I will give her a share of my garden, and I will teach her how to shell the seeds, and then to sow them.”
When my uncle and aunt came in from riding, my cousins went in a body to tell him how they intended to manage. For that is one of the happy things in this family, dear Mamma, as I heard some one remark lately; they feel a mutual interest in each other’s pursuits, and my uncle and aunt are always ready to assist them in accomplishing their little plans, whether serious or playful. There is no jealousy or mystery—all is open; and, though ready to assist each other, they never officiously interfere in one another’s occupations, because each has abundance of their own.
But I must continue my history. When they had told my uncle of their intended donations, he said, in his playful manner, “Most puissant friends, if I were allowed a voice in this affair, I would say that Bertha ought to have an independent portion, which she could cultivate or spoil, to her own satisfaction. If your aunt has no objection, I will give her a certain spot near Caroline’s garden, which requires a good deal to be done to put it into order. A little steady employment will be of great use in breaking her into the noble science of horticulture; and she can lay out her domain to her own taste. May I hope this suggestion meets with your approbation?”
“Oh yes,” said Wentworth; “we all approve of your amendment, Papa, though we are sorry not to have the pleasure of making a general contribution in her behalf. However, I know she will require help; and I engage to be her labourer, and do all her hard work.”
“And I,” said Frederick, “will be her little garden boy—her slave, if she likes; for I know she comes from a country where slaves are employed.”
“Well then, Bertha,” said my uncle, “I will shew you this piece of ground; and, if you like it, you shall have it on three conditions. The first is, that you never work long enough to fatigue yourself. These creatures have been little labourers and tillers of the earth ever since their infancy, but you are not accustomed to it, and I like moderation in every thing—in work as well as in play. Condition the second—that you really learn to garden, and do not blindly go through a certain routine of operations, because others do. Mere imitation is a bad rule of conduct, whether in gardening or any other action of life. You must learn the why and the wherefore of what you do. Condition the third—that all your implements be regularly put in their proper places every day, when you have done; and that you have a basket to carry seeds, and knife, and all other small affairs.”
I promised to adhere to his conditions; and as soon as luncheon was over, we went to the place. It extends from Caroline’s garden, towards a little stream which skirts the shrubbery, and comes very near my aunt’s flower-garden. Frederick has undertaken to connect them by a bridge, and I have already formed a multitude of plans for laying out this little spot.