Gods Good Man | Page 6

'Wilderness,' because it was left by his orders in a more or less untrimmed, untrained condition of luxuriantly natural growth. Here the syringa, a name sometimes given by horticultural pedants to the lilac, for no reason at all except to create confusion in the innocent minds of amateur growers, was opening its white 'mock orange' blossoms, and a mass of flowering aconites spread out before him like a carpet of woven gold. Here, too, tufts of bluebells peeked forth from behind the moss-grown stems of several ancient oaks and elms, and purple pansies bordered the edge of the grass. A fine old wistaria grown in tree-form, formed a natural arch of entry to this shady retreat, and its flowers were just now in their full beauty, hanging in a magnificent profusion of pale mauve, grapelike bunches from the leafless stems. Many roses, of the climbing or 'rambling' kind, were planted here, and John Walden's quick eye soon perceived where a long green shoot of one of those was loose and waving in the wind to its own possible detriment. He felt in his pockets for a bit of roffia or twine to tie up the straying stem,--he was very seldom without something of the kind for such emergencies, but this time he only groped among the fragments of Sir Morton Pippitt's note and found nothing useful. Stepping out on the path again, he looked about him and caught a glimpse of a stooping, bulky form in weather- beaten garments, planting something in one of the borders at a little distance.
"Bainton!" he called.
The figure slowly raised itself, and as slowly turned its head.
"Sir!"
"Just come here and tie this rose up, will you?"
The individual addressed approached at a very deliberate pace, dragging out some entangled roffia from his pocket as he came and severing it into lengths with his teeth. Walden partly prepared his task for him by holding up the rose branch in the way it should go, and on his arrival assisted him in the business of securing it to the knotty bough from which it had fallen.
"That looks better!" he remarked approvingly, as he stepped back and surveyed it. "You might do this one at the same time while you are about it, Bainton."
And he pointed to a network of 'Crimson rambler' rose-stems which had blown loose from their moorings and were lying across the grass.
"This place wants a reg'ler clean out," remarked Bainton then, in accents of deep disdain, as he stooped to gather up the refractory branches: "It beats me altogether, Passon, to know what you wants wi' a forcin' bed for weeds an' stuff in the middle of a decent garden. That old Wistaria Sinyens (Sinensis) is the only thing here that is worth keeping. Ah! Y'are a precious sight, y'are!" he continued, apostrophising the 'rambler' branches--"For all yer green buds ye ain't a-goin' to do much this year! All sham an' 'umbug, y'are!--all leaf an' shoot an' no flower,--like a great many people I knows on--ah!--an' not so far from this village neither! I'd clear it all out if I was you, Passon,--I would reely now!"
Walden laughed.
"Don't open the old argument, Bainton!" he said good-humouredly; "We have talked of this before. I like a bit of wild Nature sometimes."
"Wild natur!" echoed Bainton. "Seems to me natur allus wants a bit of a wash an' brush up 'fore she sits down to her master's table;-- an' who's 'er master? Man! She's jest like a child comin' out of a play in the woods, an' 'er 'air's all blown, an' 'er nails is all dirty. That's natur! Trim 'er up an' curl 'er 'air an' she's worth looking at. Natur! Lor', Passon, if ye likes wild natur ye ain't got no call to keep a gard'ner. But if ye pays me an' keeps me, ye must 'spect me to do my duty. Wherefore I sez: why not 'ave this 'ere musty-fusty place, a reg'ler breedin' 'ole for hinsects, wopses, 'ornits, snails an' green caterpillars--ah! an' I shouldn't wonder if potato-fly got amongst 'em, too!--why not, I say, have it cleaned out?"
"I like it as it is," responded Walden with cheerful imperturbability, and a smile at the thick-set obstinate-looking figure of his 'head man about the place' as Bainton loved to be called. "Have you planted out my phloxes?"
"Planted 'em out every one," was the reply; "Likewhich the Delphy Inums. An' I've put enough sweet peas in to supply Covint Garden market, bearin' in mind as 'ow you sed you couldn't have enough on 'em. Sir Morton Pippitt's Lunnon valet came along while I was a- doin' of it, an' 'e peers over the 'edge an' 'e sez, sez 'e: 'Weedin' corn, are yer?' 'No, ye gowk,' sez I! 'Ever seen corn at all 'cept in a bin?