beautiful gift of fruit and flowers from the
greenhouses at the Hall. Horticulture had not then
advanced to the rank of a fine art, but Mr.
McGee, Sir Robert's Scotch gardener, had some
pretensions to science notwithstanding, and I
can bear testimony to the perfume of his roses,
and their beauties of form, colour, and size.
These floral offerings gave great offence to
Stock, who lost no opportunity of decrying Mr.
McGee's professional skill with much bitterness.

One evening my aunt had fallen into a doze,
having desired, before she composed herself to
rest, that I would go out and get a breath of air.
So, after stationing one of the maids in the room
with injunctions to call me when my aunt should
awake, I went down-stairs and passed through
the kitchen, in order to reach the garden by
the back way. The servants were enjoying the
pleasant evening hour, after the business of the
day, and the maids were sewing and gossiping
over their work. Stock sat near the open window,
in an appropriately hard Windsor chair, with
his pipe in his mouth, contemplating the glories
of the kitchen garden. I never passed Stock
without a few words of greeting. I had a
knowledge—how acquired, it would be hard to
say, for never by word nor look was he apt to
show any touch of tenderness—that the old man
had a soft corner in his heart for my sister and
me.

"Stock, how well your early vegetables are
looking!"

"I'm not sure as you knows much about it,
Miss Margrit."

"I hope I know a little, Stock, a very little."

"Vara little," said Stock.

"The peas, for instance. Are they not
unusually promising?"

"There's a Providence above all peas,"
returned Stock, "and equally above banes. An'
it's fort'nate as there be."

Stock had not the least idea of being
irreverent. But he was given to solemn-sounding
phraseology, and believed, I fancy, that there
was something vaguely meritorious in the use
of pious words—words not especially applicable
to the matter in hand, but which seemed of
themselves to impart an odour of sanctity to his
discourse, be it what it might. Stock was an
ignorant narrow-minded old man, no doubt.
But I have since heard pious talk, conducted
on much the same principle, by people with
the means of knowing better.

"It's fort'nate as there be, or it's little peas
nor yet banes, as the master 'ud have see'd on
table this year. Bill Green, he done his best to
ruin of 'em; but there's a Providence beyond
Bill Green."

It was so well understood by this time that
Stock's revilings of his subordinate were to be
taken as mere figures of speech, expressing
more his own consciousness of old age and
rheumatism than anything else, that no one
uplifted a voice in defence of Bill Green: who, by
the way, was as honest and hard-working a lad
as could be found.

"I'm going into the garden, Stock," said I,
"to get a fresh posy for my aunt." This was
an indiscreet speech.

"Ah!" growled Stock, "the missus she don't
want no posies out of this here garden. Not
now, she don't."

"O yes, she does, Stock. She thinks no
flowers so sweet as our own."

"No more there bain't. None. The missus
is right there, Miss Margrit. I knows summut
about flowers, or I ought to it, and I'll 'fy
all England to grow sweeter flowers nor ourn.
But it ain't sweetness now, nor yet completeness,
as is the hobject wi' some. It's to have 'em
wallopin' big uns. That's the hobject. You grow
your flowers wallopers, an' you'll do."

"I don't think that, Stock."

"Well, Miss Margrit, I ain't a goin' to try
it, whether or no. I allus done my dooty, and
I allus means to. I say as them flowers as
young Master Lee brings here is wallopers, and
nothin' else but wallopers. And I say, as one
o' the 'lect, that I shan't find no wallopers where
I'm a goin' to. Me—and a few more—we
shan't be called upon to keep company with
wallopers."

"Mr. Lee only meant to give my aunt pleasure,
Stock. I'm sure he always admires the gardens
at the Gable House. And you must not say
anything unkind of Mr. Lee, Stock, because I
love him very much, and I'm going to be married
to him, you know."

"Ah, sure. Well, well, well. No, I han't
got nothin' to say agin' young Mr. Lee. Goin'
to be married," he pursued, musingly. "Little
Miss Margrit. Ah, sure! Well, my dear, may
the Lord have marcy upon ye!"

This was not exactly encouraging.  But I
understood Stock; and though his deep-set
black eyes looked stern, and no muscle of
his hard brown face was softened, yet I knew
that the old man had a tender place in his
heart for the orphan girl he had known so
many years. I passed on to the garden, and
was busy gathering my nosegay, when I heard
the clatter of a horse's hoofs entering the
stable-yard, and almost at the same moment a
window in my room was softly opened, and
Hester, the maid, called to me that my aunt
was awake, and that Dr. Dixon was with her.
"I will come in a few minutes, Hester, before
the doctor goes." As she turned away, and
shut the window, Horace came hurrying across
the lawn, all booted and spurred from his ride.

"My dearest Margaret! I am so glad to find
you here! Each time I have come lately, you
have been mewed up in a close chamber."

"Dear Horace, I am very well. It does me
no harm.''

"It does me harm, for I see so little of you.
And how is Mrs. Gough?"

"Dr. Dixon is with her now, and I am going
in, to hear his report."

"Going in! It seems to me, Margaret, that
you grudge every moment you give to me."
He had drawn my arm through his, and we were
slowly pacing down the garden walk; I, with my
basket of freshly gathered flowers in my hand.