wrong--measurements, preparation, soil, manure, everything that could be
wrong, was. Certainly the only crop we had from them was weeds. But I
began about half way through the week to grow sceptical, because on
comparing their criticisms I found they seldom agreed, and so took
courage again. Finally I chose a nice, trim young man, with strikingly
intelligent eyes and quick movements, who had shown himself less
concerned with the state of chaos existing than with considerations of
what might eventually be made of the place. He is very deaf, so he
wastes no time in words, and is exceedingly keen on gardening, and
knows, as I very soon discovered, a vast amount more than I do, in spite
of my three years' application. Moreover, he is filled with that
humility and eagerness to learn which is only found in those who have
already learned more than their neighbours. He enters into my plans with
enthusiasm, and makes suggestions of his own, which, if not always quite
in accordance with what are perhaps my peculiar tastes, at least plainly
show that he understands his business. We had a very busy winter
together altering all the beds, for they none of them had been given a
soil in which plants could grow, and next autumn I intend to have all
the so-called lawns dug up and levelled, and shall see whether I cannot
have decent turf here. I told him he must save the daisy and dandelion
roots, and he looked rather crestfallen at that, but he is young, and
can learn to like what I like, and get rid of his only fault, a nursery-
gardener attitude towards all flowers that are not the fashion. "I shall
want a great many daffodils next spring," I shouted one day at the
beginning of our acquaintance.

His eyes gleamed. "Ah yes," he said with immediate approval, "they are
_sehr modern."

I was divided between amusement at the notion of Spenser's