About a couple of hours later the Doctor was down in his garden with a large note-book in his hand, a pen behind his ear, and an exciseman's ink-bottle suspended by a piece of silk ribbon to his button-hole. Every now and then, as he walked up and down the gravel walk, he stopped to gaze away south at the lovely prospect, his eyes resting longest on a magnificent clump of fir trees which grew just beyond the bottom of the grounds, and hid from sight some very, shabby sand pits, which had something to do with the place being called "Sandleighs." They were splendid old trees, every one having grown straight and clean, for the sandy soil suited them, and a timber merchant would have looked at them longingly, and thought what fine sticks of timber they were, and what fine broad planks they would make if borne to a saw-mill. Veronica was busy too, but not too busy to run to her father from time to time, as she saw that he took his pen from behind his ear, dipped it, and carefully wrote some note for his work. This note he would read aloud to her, and ask her opinion; after which Veronica hurried back to her work, pricking her fingers in spite of her thick gloves, as she carefully went over her rose trees to free them from the enemies with which they swarmed. Close at hand, upon his knees, which were protected by an old mat, was Thomas, the old gardener, who was diligently extracting little tufts of weed from the gravel walk, and making observations to his young mistress as he went on. "Make a deal o' fuss at the Manor 'bout her ladyship's roses; but they ain't nowt to yourn." "Indeed!" "Nowt, miss. You see that this guaney jooce as I waters 'em with is reg'lar hessence, and I saves it up. Seven gard'ners, 'cloodin' a boy, they keeps there; but they can't touch us in roses, miss." _Chod_! "What's that?" said Veronica, looking up as a peculiar sound struck her ear. _Chud_! Then _chad_! and directly after, _chod_! Thomas was kneeling bolt upright now, and took off his very shabby cap, and began from habit to scratch his head with the blunt point of the old weed knife. "Don't you hear, Thomas?" cried Veronica, keeping a rose grub in suspense between her finger and thumb; and as she spoke the sounds came at regular intervals. "Ay, miss: sounds like some 'un a choppin' 'ard." "Ah!" ejaculated Veronica, as she caught sight of a couple of men through an opening in the shrubbery at the bottom of the lawn, and she ran to where her father was busily writing down a note, speaking aloud as he went on. "In the half-ruined capsule--" "Papa!" "One moment, my dear. `The sun causes the outer covering to contract, and assume the form of a shiny and--'" "Papa, they're cutting down those beautiful old trees." "What!" cried the Doctor, turning in the direction of the clump. "Oh no; it must be a mistake." _Chod_! A tremendous chop.