that have been let hitherto for thirty
pounds per annum, are now worth fifty. Yet
my client, Mr. Crote, is ready to renew the
lease for three more lives at the very slight
fine we have named to you. What would
you have more reasonable?"

"Sir, I make no complaint," George
answered; " only I want to abide by the
ground, and I have not so much money as
you require. I owe nobody a penny; and, to
pay my way and lay by enough money for
next year's seeds and roots, has been the
most that I can manage. I have saved fifteen
pounds. Here it is, sir: take it, if it will
help me in this business."

"Well," Mr. Flint suggested, "what do
you say to this? I make no promise, but I
think I can persuade Mr. Crote to let you
retain possession of your land, for—shall we
say?—two years, at the rent of fifty pounds;
and, at the expiration of that term, you may
perhaps be able to pay the fine and to renew
your lease."

"I will accept that offer, sir." A homespun
man clings to the walls of home.
Swayne's nursery would not support so high
a rental; but let the future take thought for
itself—to postpone for two years the doom to
quit the roof-tree under which his mother
suckled him was gain enough for George.

So he turned homeward and went cheerfully
upon his way, by a short cut through
narrow streets and lanes that bordered on the
Thames. His gardener's eye discovered all
the lonely little pots of mignonette in the
upper windows of the tottering old houses;
and, in the trimmer streets, where there
were rows of little houses in all shades of
whitewash, some quite fresh looking,
inhabited by people who had kept their windows
clean, he sometimes saw as many as four
flowerpots upon a window sill. Then, there
were the squares of turf, put, in weekly
instalments of six inches, to the credit of caged
larks, for the slow liquidation of the debt of
green fields due to them. There were also
parrots; for a large number of the houses in
those river streets were tenanted by sailors
who brought birds from abroad. There were
also all sorts of grotesque shells; and one
house that receded from its neighbours, had
a small garden in front, which was sown
over with shells instead of flowers. The
walks were bordered with shell instead of
box, and there were conchs upon the wall
instead of wallflowers. The summer-house
was a grotto; but the great centre ornament
was a large figure-head, at the foot
of which there was a bench erected, so that
the owner sat under its shadow. It
represented a man with a great beard, holding
over his shoulder a large three-pronged fork;
which George believed to be meant for
Neptune. That was a poor garden, thought
George; for it never waved nor rustled, and
did not, by one change of feature—except that
it grew daily dirtier—show itself conscious
of the passage of the hours, and days, and
months, and seasons.

It interested George a great deal more
to notice here and there the dirty leaf of
new kinds of plants; which, brought home
by some among the sailors, struggled to grow
from seed or root. Through the window of
one house that was very poor, but very neat
and clean, he saw put upon a table to catch
the rays of summer sun, a strange plant in
blossom. It had a reddish stalk, small-
pointed leaves; and, from every cluster of
leaves hung elegant red flower-bells with
purple tongues. That plant excited him
greatly; and, when he stopped to look in at it,
he felt some such emotion as might stir an
artist who should see a work by Rubens hung
up in a pawnbroker's shop-window. He
knocked at the green door, and a pale girl
opened it, holding in one hand a piece of
unfinished needlework. Her paleness left her for
a minute when she saw that it was a stranger
who had knocked. Her blue eyes made
George glance away from them before he had
finished his respectful inquiry. " I beg your
pardon," he said, " but may I ask the name
of the flower in the window, and where it
came from?"

"Will you walk in, if you please, sir," said
the girl, "mother will tell you all she knows
about it."

With two steps, the young gardener strode
into the small front room where a sick and
feeble woman sat in an arm-chair. The room
was clean and little furnished. There was only
sand upon the floor; and, on the table with
some more of the girl's work, was part of a
stale loaf, flanked with two mugs that
contained some exceedingly blue and limpid milk.
George apologised for his intrusion; but
said what his calling was, and pleaded in
excuse the great beauty and novelty of the
plant that had attracted him.

"Ay, ay, but I prize it for more than
that," said Mrs. Ellis, "it was brought to me
by my son. He took it as a cutting, and he
brought it a long way, the dear fellow, all
the way from the West Indies, nursing it for
me. Often he let his own lips parch, sir, on
the voyage that he might give water enough
to the flower that he took home for his
mother. He is a tender-hearted boy, my
Harry."

"He is young then?"

"Well, he is not exactly a boy, sir; but
they are all boys on board ship, you understand.
He could carry off the house upon
his back, Harry could; he is so wonderful
broad-chested. He's just gone a long voyage,
sir, and I'm feared I shall be gone a longer
before he comes back; and he said when
he went, 'Take care of the plant, mother,
it'll have hundreds of bells to ring when
I come back to you next year.' He is always
full of his fun, sir, is my Harry."

"Then, Ma'am," George stammered, "it's
a plant you wouldn't like to part with."