When they had kicked all the cushions from the sofas and divans, Scott
suggested that they go out and help Schmitt, the gardener, who, at that
moment, came into view on the lawn, followed by Olsen wheeling a
barrowful of seedlings in wooden trays.

So the children descended to the main hall and marched through it,
defying Lang, the second man, refusing hats and overshoes; and presently
were digging blissfully in a flower-bed under the delighted directions
of Schmitt.

"What are these things, anyway?" demanded Scott, ramming down the moist
earth around a fragile rootlet from which trailed a green leaf or two.

"Dot vas a verpena, sir," explained the old gardener. "Now you shall
vatch him grow."

The boy remained squatting for several minutes, staring hard at the
seedling.

"I can't see it grow," he said to his sister, "and I'm not going to sit
here all day waiting. Come on!" And he gave her a fraternal slap.

Geraldine wiped her hands on her knickerbockers and started after him;
and away they raced around the house, past the fountains, under trees by
the coach-house, across paths and lawns and flower-beds, tearing about
like a pair of demented kittens. They frisked, climbed trees, chased
each other, wrestled, clutched, tumbled, got mad, made up, and finally,
removing shoes and stockings, began a game of leapfrog.

Horror-stricken nurses arrived bearing dry towels and footgear, and were