w," said Mrs Marrot, rising; "he's in the garding
be'ind."

"Pray don't call him in," said Netta, rising quickly; "we will go down
to him. I should like much to see your garden."

"You'll find my Loo there, too," said Mrs Marrot with a motherly smile,
as she opened the door to let her visitors out. "You'll excuse me not
goin' hout. I dursn't leave that baby for a minute. He'd be over the--
there he--"

The sentence was cut short by a yell, followed by a heavy bump, and the
door shut with a bang, which sent Emma and her friend round the corner
of the house in a highly amused frame of mind.

John Marrot's garden was a small one--so small that the break-van of his
own "Flyin' Dutchman" could have contained it easily--but it was not too
small to present a luxuriance, fertility, and brilliance of colour that
was absolutely magnificent! Surrounded as that garden was by "ballast"
from the embankment, broken wheels and rail, bricks and stones, and
other miscellaneous refuse and _debris_ of the line, it could only be
compared to an oasis in the desert, or a bright gem on a rugged
warrior's breast. This garden owed its origin to Lucy Marrot's love for
flowers, and it owed much of its magnificence to Will Garvie's love for
Lucy; for that amiable fireman spent much of his small wage in
purchasing seed and other things for the improvement of that garden, and
spent the very few hours of his life, not claimed by the inexorable iron
horse, in assisting to cultivate the same.

We use the word `assisting' advisedly, because Loo would not hear of his
taking this sort of work out of her hands. She was far too fond of it
to permit that, but she had no objection whatever to his assistance.
There never was, so Will and Loo thought, anything like the love which
these two bore to each other. Extremes meet, undoubtedly. Their love
was so intensely matter of fact and earnest that it rose high above the
region of romance, in which lower region so many of our race do delight
to coo and sigh. There was no nonsense about it. Will Garvie, who was
naturally bold--no wonder, considering his meteor-like style of life--
saw all the flowers in the garden as well as any other man, and admired
them more than most men, but he said gravely that he wouldn't give the
end of a cracked boiler-tube for the whole garden, if she were not in
the midst of it. At which Loo laughed heartily, and blushed with
pleasure, and made no other reply.

It was q