First to break covert was Frederick, Mr. Fletcher's assistant. Abnormally steeped in vice for one so young (this wretched boy was but fourteen), with the coolness of a matured evil-doer Frederick extinguished his cigarette-end by pressing it against his boot-heel; dropped it amongst other ends, toilsomely collected, in a tin box; placed the box in its prepared hole; covered this with earth and leaves; hooked a basket of faded weeds upon his arm, and so appeared in Mr. Marrapit's path with bent back, diligently searching. Mr. Marrapit inquired: “Your task?” “Weedin',” said Frederick. “Weeding what?” “Weeds,” Frederick told him, a little surprised. Mr. Marrapit rapped sharply: “Say 'sir'.” “Sir,” said Frederick, making to move. Mr. Marrapit peered at the basket. “You have remarkably few.” “There ain't never many,” Frederick said with quiet pride--“there ain't never many if you keep 'em down by always doin' your job.” Mr. Marrapit pointed: “They grow thick at your feet, sir!” In round-eyed astonishment Frederick peered low. “They spring up the minute your back's turned, them weeds. They want a weed destroyer what you pours out of a can.” “You are the weed-destroyer,” Mr. Marrapit said sternly. “Be careful. It is very true that they spring up whenever _my_ back is turned. Be careful.” He passed on. “Blarst yer back,” murmured Frederick, bending his own to the task. IV. A few yards further Mr. Marrapit again paused. Against a laurel bush stood a pair of human legs, the seat of whose encasing trousers stared gloomily upwards at the sky. With a small twig he carried Mr. Marrapit tapped the seat. Three or four raps were necessary; slowly it straightened into line with the legs; from the abyss of the bush a back, shoulders, head, appeared.