of battle.

One certain bright and windy afternoon, the Major, attired in his
usual faultless manner, had set out for his usual constitutional.
In crossing from one great residential thoroughfare to another, he
happened to pass along one of those aimless-looking lanes which lie
along the back-garden walls of a row of mansions, and which in
their empty and discoloured appearance give one an odd sensation as
of being behind the scenes of a theatre. But mean and sulky as the
scene might be in the eyes of most of us, it was not altogether so
in the Major's, for along the coarse gravel footway was coming a
thing which was to him what the passing of a religious procession
is to a devout person. A large, heavy man, with fish-blue eyes and
a ring of irradiating red beard, was pushing before him a barrow,
which was ablaze with incomparable flowers. There were splendid
specimens of almost every order, but the Major's own favourite
pansies predominated. The Major stopped and fell into conversation,
and then into bargaining. He treated the man after the manner of
collectors and other mad men, that is to say, he carefully and with
a sort of anguish selected the best roots from the less excellent,
praised some, disparaged others, made a subtle scale ranging from a
thrilling worth and rarity to a degraded insignificance, and then
bought them all. The man was just pushing off his barrow when he
stopped and came close to the Major.

"I'll tell you what, sir," he said. "If you're interested in them
things, you just get on to that wall."

"On the wall!" cried the scandalised Major, whose conventional soul
quailed within him at the thought of such fantastic trespass.