In
his youth he had been an under gardener at a great place, and being fond
of his work, had learned more than under gardeners often learn. He had
been one of a small army of workers under the orders of an imposing head
gardener, whose knowledge was a science. He had seen and taken part
in what was done in orchid houses, orangeries, vineries, peach houses,
conservatories full of wondrous tropical plants. But it was not easy for
a man like himself, uneducated and lacking confidence of character,
to advance as a bolder young man might have done. The all-ruling head
gardener had inspired him with awe. He had watched him reverently,
accumulating knowledge, but being given, as an underling, no opportunity
to do more than obey orders. He had spent his life in obeying, and
congratulated himself that obedience secured him his weekly wage.
"He was a great man--Mr. Timson--he was," he said, in talking to Miss
Vanderpoel. "Ay, he was that. Knew everything that could happen to a
flower or a s'rub or a vegetable. Knew it all. Had a lib'ery of books
an' read 'em night an' day. Head gardener's cottage was good enough
for gentry. The old Markis used to walk round the hothouses an' gardens
talking to him by the hour.
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