ver
and its habits. Even her unclerical knowledge was such as it was not
well to reflect upon. She refolded the letter and laid it aside.

"I must not think. I must do something. It may prevent my listening,"
she said aloud to the silence of her room.

She cast her eyes about her as if in search. Upon her desk lay a
notebook. She took it up and opened it. It contained lists of plants,
of flower seeds, of bulbs, and shrubs. Each list was headed with an
explanatory note.

"Yes, this will do," she said. "I will go and talk to Kedgers."

Kedgers and every man under him had been at the service, but they had
returned to their respective duties. Kedgers, giving directions to some
under gardeners who were clearing flower beds and preparing them for
their winter rest, turned to meet her as she approached. To Kedgers the
sight of her coming towards him on a garden path was a joyful thing. He
had done wonders, it is true, but if she had not stood by his side with
inspiration as well as confidence, he knew that things might have "come
out different."

"You was born a gardener, miss--born one," he had said months ago.

It was the time when flower beds must be planned for the coming year.
Her notebook was filled with memoranda of the things they must talk
about.

It was good, normal, healthy work to do. The scent of the rich, damp,
upturned mould was a good thing to inhale. They walked from one end to
another, stood before clumps of shrubs, and studied bits of wall. Here
a mass of blue might grow, here low things of white and pale yellow. A
quickly-climbing rose would hang sheets of bloom over this dead tree.
This sheltered wall would hold warmth for a Marechal Niel.

"You must take care of it all--even if I am not here next year," Miss
Vanderpoel said.

Kedgers' absorbed face changed.

"Not here, miss," he exclaimed. "You not here! Things wouldn't grow,
miss." He checked himself, his weather-toughened skin reddening because
he was afraid he had perhaps taken a liberty. And then moving his hat
uneasily on his head, he took another. "But it's true enough," looking
down on the gravel walk, "we--we couldn't expect to keep you."

She did not look as if she had noticed the liberty, but she did not look
quite like herself, Kedgers thought. If she had been another young lady,
and but for his established feeling that she was somehow immune from all
ills, he would have thought she had a headache, or was low in her mind.

She sp