“What do you think of Harry Winburn—he seems a good hand with flowers?” The words had scarcely passed his lips when Tom saw that he had made a mistake. Old Simon retired into himself at once, and a cunning, distrustful look came over his face. There was no doing anything with him. Even the new forcing house had lost its attractions for him, and Tom, after some further ineffectual attempts to bring him round, returned to the house somewhat crestfallen.
“Well, how have you succeeded?” said Katie, looking up from her work, as he came in and sat down near her table. Tom shook his head.
“I'm afraid I've made a regular hash of it,” he said. “I thought at first I had quite come round the old savage by praising the garden, and promising that you would let him have a new house.”
“You don't mean to say you did that?” said Katie, stopping her work.
“Indeed, but I did, though. I was drawn on, you know. I saw it was the right card to play; so I couldn't help it.”
“Oh, Tom! how could you do so? We don't want another house the least in the world; it is only Simon's vanity. He wants to beat the gardener at the grange at the flower shows. Every penny will have to come out of what papa allows me for the parish.”
“Don't be afraid, Katie; you won't have to spend a penny. Of course I reserved a condition. The new house was to be put up if he would take Harry as an under-gardener.
“What did he say to that?”
“Well, he said nothing. I never came across such an old Turk. How you have spoiled him! If he isn't pleased, he won't take the trouble to answer you a word. I was very near telling him a piece of my mind. But he looked all the more. I believe he would poison Harry if he came here. What can have made him hate him so?”
“He is jealous of him. Mary and I were so foolish as to praise poor Betty's flowers before Simon, and he has never forgiven it. I think, too, that he suspects, somehow, that we talked about getting Harry here. I ought to have told you, but I quite forgot it.”