was a twinkle in his eyes
and a little dent or two about the corners of his lips, but as he saw me
looking wonderingly at him he became cold and stern of aspect again.

"Well," he said shortly, "will that do?"

"Do, sir!" I cried excitedly; "is this your garden?"

"Master's," he said, shortly.

"Your master's garden?"

"And your master's, too," he said. "Well, will it do?"

"Do!" I cried; "it's lovely. I never saw such a beautiful garden in my
life. What a lawn! what paths! what flowers!"

"What a lot o' work, eh? What a lot to do?"

"Yes," I said; "but what a place!"

After that cold cheerless yard I seemed to have stepped into a perfect
paradise of flowers and ornamental evergreens. A lawn like green velvet
led up to a vast, closely-clipped yew hedge, and down to a glistening
pool, full of great broad lily leaves, and with the silver cups floating
on the golden surface, for the water reflected the tints in the skies.
Here and there were grey-looking statues in nooks among the evergreens,
and the great beauty of all to me was that there was no regularity about
the place; it was all up and down, and fresh beauties struck the eye at
every glance. Paths wandered here and there, great clumps of ornamental
trees hid other clumps, and patches of soft velvet turf were everywhere
showing up beds in which were masses of flowers of every hue. There
were cedars, too, that seemed to be laying their great broad boughs upon
the grass in utter weariness--they were so heavy and thick; slopes that
were masses of rhododendrons, and when I had feasted my eyes for a time
on one part Mr Solomon led me on in his serious way to another, where
fresh points of beauty struck the eye.

"It's lovely," I cried. "Oh! Mr Solomon, what a garden!"

"Mr Brownsmith, not Mr Solomon," he said rather gruffly; and I
apologised and remembered; but I must go on calling him Mr Solomon to
distinguish him from my older friend.

"I never saw such a place," I added; "and it's kept so well."

"Tidyish--pretty tidy," he said coldly. "Not enough hands. Only nine
and me--and you--but we do our best."

"Why, it's perfection!" I cried.

"No it ain't," he said gruffly. "Too much glass. Takes a deal o' time.
I shall make you a glass boy mostly."

"Make me--a what, sir?"

"Glass boy. You'll see."

I said "Oh," and began to understand.

"Was it like this when you came?" I said.

I was very glad I said it, for Mr Solomon's mouth twi