"Ben, lad," he said, "ye'll do me one more favour, willn't ye? Get me a spade off o' t' cart, will ye? I've left it till t' last minute, for I can 'ardly bide to root it up, but I munnut leave that tree be'ind."
One of the men had darted off at the mention of the word "spade," and the beloved implement—the old man's faithful friend—was placed in his hand.
"Thee an' me's hed monny a grand time together, lad," he said, apostrophising the spade, "but nivver such a sad job as this afore. A sad job, aye, a sad job. But we've got to do it, lad, ye an' me."
He put his foot upon it and prepared to dig up the tree, when Barjona interposed. Every word was clearly heard by the group in the roadway.
"Steady there! ... what ye goin' to do?"
"Nobbut just dig t' tree up, Barjona."
"Leave t' tree alone ... that tree's mine."
Ted looked at him and his hands began to tremble. "Ye don't meean, Barjona, 'at ye won't let me tak' t' rose-tree away wi' me?"
"Ye tak' nowt out of t' garden ... all what's rooted in t' soil belongs to me ... paid good money for it.... Put yer spade away."
"Look 'ere, Mr. Higgins," interrupted Ben, "do you mean to tell me 'at you're going to prevent Ted takin' a bit of a rose-tree with him? If you do, you're a harder-'earted old wretch than I took you for."