rew, and a medlar
and a quince. But flowers he specially loved. His house was bowered in
roses to the thatched roof, and in the garden grew lilies and lupins, a
hundred roses and many bright tracts of shining, scented blossoms. Now,
however, they had vanished and on a Saturday afternoon John Best was
tidying up, tending a bonfire and digging potatoes.

He was generous of his treasures and the girls never hesitated to ask
him for a rose in June. Ancient Mrs. Chick, too, won an annual gift from
the foreman. Down one side of his garden ranged great elder bushes, and
Mrs. Chick made of the blooth in summer time, a decoction very precious
for throat troubles.

Now Best stood for a moment and regarded a waste corner where grew
nettles. Somebody approached him in this act of contemplation and he
spoke.

"I often wonder if it would be worth while making an experiment with
stinging nettles," he said to Ernest Churchouse, who was the visitor.

"They have a spinnable fibre, John, without a doubt."

"They have, Mister Churchouse, and they scutch well and can be wrought
into textiles. But there's no temptation to make trial. I'm only
thinking in a scientific spirit."

He swept up the fallen nettles for his bonfire.

"I've come for a few balls of the rough twine," said Mr. Churchouse.

"And welcome."

An unusual air of gloom sat on Mr. Best and the other was quick to
observe it.

"All well, I hope?" he said.

"Not exactly. I'm rather under the weather; but I dare say it's my own
fault."

"It often is," admitted Ernest; "but in my experience that doesn't make
it any better. In fact, the most disagreeable sort of depression is that
which we know we are responsible for ourselves. When other people annoy
us, we have the tonic effect of righteous indignation; but not when we
annoy ourselves and know ourselves to blame."

"I wouldn't go so far as to say it's all my own fault, however,"
answered Mr. Best. "It is and it isn't my fault. To be a father of
children is your own fault in a manner of speaking; and yet to be a
father is not any wrong, other things being as they should."

"On the contrary, it's part of the whole duty of man--other things being
equal, as you say."

"We look to see ourselves reflected in our offspring, yet how often do
we?" asked the foreman.

"Perhaps we might oftener, if we didn't suffer from constitutional
inability to recognise ourselves, John. I've thought of this problem,
let me tell you, f