"Not a soul," responded Jenkins, ruefully. "I was about the beds and places at first, and when I came up here and opened the door, the smoke and smell knocked me back'ards. When I see the plants--leastways what was the plants--with their leaves and blossoms and stems all black and blasted, I says to myself, 'The devil must have been in here;' and I was on my way to tell the master so when you two young gents met me." "But it's time some of them were about," cried Tod. "Where's Drew? Is he not come?" "Drew be hanged for a lazy vagabond!" retorted old Jenkins. "He never comes on much afore seven, he doesn't. Monk threatened last week to get his wages stopped for him. I did stop 'em once, afore I was ill." Drew was the under-gardener, an active young fellow of nineteen. There was a boy as well, but it happened that he was away just now. Almost as Jenkins spoke, Drew came in view, leaping along furiously towards the vegetable garden, as though he knew he was late. "Halloa, Drew!" He recognized Tod's voice, turned, and came into the greenhouse. His look of amazement would have made a picture. "Sakes alive! Jenkins, what have done this?" "Do you know anything about it, Drew?" asked Tod. "Me, sir?" answered Drew, turning his wide-open eyes on Tod, in surprise at the question. "I don't as much as know what it _is_." "Mr. Joe, I think the master ought to be told of this," said Jenkins. "As well get it over." He meant the explosion of wrath that was sure to come when the Squire saw the ravages. Tod never stirred. Who was to tell him? It was like the mice proposing to bell the cat: nobody offered to do it. "You go, Johnny," said Tod, by-and-by. "Perhaps he's getting up now." I went. I always did what he ordered me, and heard Mrs. Todhetley in her dressing-room. She had her white petticoats on, doing her hair. When I told her, she just backed into a chair and turned as white as Jenkins. "What's that, Johnny?" roared out the Squire from his bed. I hadn't noticed that the door between the rooms was open. "Something is wrong in the greenhouse, sir." "Something wrong in the greenhouse! What d'ye mean, lad?" "He says the plants are spoiled, and the grapes," interrupted Mrs. Todhetley, to help me. "Plants and grapes spoiled! You must be out of your senses, Johnny, to say such a thing. What has spoiled them?" "It looks like some--blight," I answered, pitching upon the word. "Everything's dead and blackened." Downstairs I rushed for fear he should ask more. And down came the pater after me, hardly anything on, so to say; not shaved, and his nankeen coat flying behind him. I let him go on to get the burst over. When I reached them, they were talking about the key. It was customary for the head-gardener to lock the greenhouse at night. For the past month or so there had been, as may be said, two head-gardeners, and the key had been left on the ledge at the back of the greenhouse, that whichever of them came on first in the morning might get in.