y.

"Who did, then?"

"John Grange."

"John Grange?"

"Yes; I dare say he has been here. He has been in the big conservatory
ever so long, tying up plants and clearing off dead stuff."

"John Grange! What, has he got back his sight?"

"No; the mistress fetched him over from old Tummus's cottage, and he has
been hard at work ever so long."

"But there wasn't no clearing up to do," cried Barnett, flushing
angrily.

"Wasn't there? Well, he was at it, and you may tell that fellow he
won't be wanted, for John Grange is going to stay."

Daniel Barnett said something which, fortunately, was inaudible, and
need not be recorded; and he turned pale through the harvest brown
sun-tan with mortification and jealous rage.

"Why, you don't mean to say, Mr Ellis, sir," he cried, "that you've
been a party to bringing that poor creature back here to make himself a
nuisance and get meddling with my plants?"

"No, sir, I do not," said the bailiff sharply; "it's your mistress's
work. She has a way of doing what she likes, and you'd better talk to
her about that."

He turned upon his heel and left the orchid-house, and as soon as he was
gone the new head-gardener stood watching him till he was out of
hearing, and then, doubling up his fist, he struck out from the shoulder
at one of the offending pots standing at a corner--a lovely mauve-tinted
cattleya in full blossom--and sent it flying to shivers upon the floor.

It was the kind of blow he felt in his rage that he would have liked to
direct at John Grange's head, but as in his unreasonable jealous spite
it was only a good-sized earthenware pot, the result was very
unsatisfactory, for the flower was broken, the pot shattered, and a
couple of red spots appeared on Daniel Barnett's knuckles, which began
to bleed freely.

"That's it, is it?" he muttered. "He's to be kept here like a pet
monkey, I suppose. Well, he's not going to interfere with my work, and
so I tell him. Don't want no blind beggars about. A silly old fool:
that's what she is--a silly old fool; and I should like to tell her so.
So he's to come here and do what he likes, is he? Well, we shall see
about that. It's indecent, that's what it is. Why can't he act like a
man, and take it as he should, not come whining about here like a blind
beggar of Bethnal Green? But if he can't see, others can. Perhaps Mr
John Grange mayn't stop here very long. Who knows?" Daniel Barnett,
for some reason or anothe