"Dahlias first," said Burbidge shortly, and touched his hat. And I felt there was not a moment to be wasted, so we looked out a plot of ground that was suitable to receive all the tubers, and then at last I got him away, and to speak about his visit to his brother. Poor Sal---- At first my old friend would not answer my questions, and only looked grave, and shook his head. But at last he yielded to my entreaties, and after calling out to his boys to attend to their business and to do some "job" in the far distance, he followed me into a secluded path. "I would not for ever so much as them boys should hear," he began. "It might clean scare they, and make 'em feckless about their spring digging and fettling; but as yer have asked me, I'll make a clean breast of the business. I looked in at the show, but," Burbidge declared scornfully, "it warn't nothing better than I've seen scores of times in my own apple-room; and as to the crocuses, hellebores and scillas, they wern't nothing but what us has, and better." My old friend always enjoys speaking disparagingly of shows and exhibitions, whatever he really thinks, for even gardeners are not without some particle of envy, I shrewdly suspect. "Well," continued Burbidge, "after business," and I knew business meant something connected with the garden, "I went on to Clun, and there was a deal of getting to get to Clun--stopping, waiting, and misinforming, but at last the job got done. When yer wants, yer gets, as Humphrey Kynaston said when he made the leap." "Yes, Burbidge, but how about your brother?" I said, trying to make him keep to his point. "I found him and Sal," answered Burbidge, "strange as bats in sunlight. They were both overlooked, sure enough. Dazed and dimmy, same as if they had been bashed and bummelled for a whole live-long week." "What did you do?" I inquired. [Sidenote: I KNOW OF A CHARM]