"Steady there! ... what ye goin' to do?"

"Nobbut just dig t' tree up, Barjona."

"Leave t' tree alone ... that tree's mine."

Ted looked at him and his hands began to tremble. "Ye don't meean,
Barjona, 'at ye won't let me tak' t' rose-tree away wi' me?"

"Ye tak' nowt out of t' garden ... all what's rooted in t' soil belongs
to me ... paid good money for it.... Put yer spade away."

"Look 'ere, Mr. Higgins," interrupted Ben, "do you mean to tell me 'at
you're going to prevent Ted takin' a bit of a rose-tree with him? If
you do, you're a harder-'earted old wretch than I took you for."

Angry murmurs arose from the crowd, but Barjona's jaw stiffened and
there was no hint of yielding in his tone.

"Right's right," he said ... "that rose-tree's mine ... took a
partic'lar fancy to it ... won't part with it for nob'dy."

Ted fumbled in his pocket and produced a wash-leather bag, the neck of
which was tied round with string. With shaking fingers he felt for a
coin and drew out a half-sovereign.

"I'll pay ye for't, Barjona. Sitha, I'll give ye ten shillin' for t'
plant."

"Put yer brass back, Ted ... brass willn't buy it ... took my fancy,
that tree has ... you mun buy another."

Sar'-Ann's mother pushed her way through and strode up to the stubborn,
grasping man, and shook her fist in his face.

"You miserable old devil!" she cried. "Oh, if I were only a man I'd
thrash ye while ever I could stand over ye. Yes, I would, if they sent
me to gaol for 't. I wish the earth 'ud open an' swalla' ye up. But
t' varry worms 'ud turn at ye."

Barjona thrust his hands deep into his trousers' pockets and assumed an
air of weariness.

"Isn't there a man among ye?" continued the infuriated woman. "Ben,
haven't ye spunk enough to fell 'im to t' ground? Eh, these men! God
forgive me 'at I call 'em men!"

She fell back, and burst into hysterical tears, and Ben made another
attempt.

"What the hangment do ye mean by it, Mr. Higgins? Have ye no 'eart at
all? Ye'll never miss t' tree. I'll give you two just as good out of
our own garden, hanged if I won't. Let him take t' tree, an' we'll be
going."

"He--leaves--that--tree--where--it--is," replied Barjona with emphasis;
"an' ye can all clear out o' this garden.... That tree's mine."

Ben took Ted's arm, but the old man refused to move. A tear forced its
way out of the corner of his eye, and he drew a red cotton handkerchief
from his trousers' pocket an