My word! what you can do
with just delphiniums an' campanula an' acquilegia an' poppies, everyday
things like them, that'll grow in any cottage garden, an' bulbs
an' annuals! Roses, miss--why, Mr. Timson had them in thickets--an'
carpets--an' clambering over trees and tumbling over walls in sheets an'
torrents--just know their ways an' what they want, an' they'll grow in
a riot. But they want feeding--feeding. A rose is a gross feeder. Feed
a Glory deejon, and watch over him, an' he'll cover a housetop an' give
you two bloomings."
"I have never lived in an English garden. I should like to see this one
at its best."
Leaving her with salutes of abject gratitude, Kedgers moved away
bewildered. What man could believe it true? At three or four yards'
distance he stopped and, turning, came back to touch his cap again.
"You understand, miss," he said. "I wasn't even second or third under
Mr. Timson. I'm not deceiving you, am I, miss?"
"You are to be trusted," said Miss Vanderpoel, "first because you love
the things--and next because of Timson."
CHAPTER XXII
ONE OF MR. VANDERPOEL'S LETTERS
Mr. Germen, the secretary of the great Mr. Vanderpoel, in arranging
the neat stacks of letters preparatory to his chief's entrance to
his private room each morning, knowing where each should be placed,
understood that such as were addressed in Miss Vanderpoel's hand would
be read before anything else.
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