"Good mornin', sir," he said, touching his hat, though the action was devoid of any semblance of servility. "Things are in a nice mess, aren't they?" and he wheeled round to gaze at dandelions rampant in a bed sacred to begonias. "They are, indeed!" agreed Armathwaite, wondering what white-haired philosopher had come on the scene. "You'll be Mr. Armathwaite, I'm thinkin'?" went on the other. "Yes." "My name's Smith, sir. Mr. Leadbitter, the policeman, told me you had taken on the Grange. Mebbe you'll be wantin' a gardener." A light broke in on Armathwaite. "Oh! Begonia Smith!" he cried. "Come back to the old love--is that it?" "That's it, sir. She looks as if she wanted someone to look after her." "Very well. Take charge. It's too late in the year to grow flowers or vegetables, but you can tidy things up a bit." "A man who has his heart in the job, sir, can grow flowers at any time of the year. If I was to drop a line to the Nuttonby carrier to-night, I'd have a fair show of geraniums, calceolarias, lobelia, an' marguerite daisies in the front here by to-morrow evenin'." Armathwaite was not one to check enthusiasm. Moreover, the notion of brightening the surroundings appealed to him. "That would be sharp work," he said, eyeing the jungle. Smith, with the suspiciousness of an old man eager to show that he was as good as some of the young ones, misunderstood that critical survey. "Before Tom Bland brings the plants from the nursery I'll have a canny bit o' soil ready for 'em," he vowed. "I'm sure of it," said Armathwaite, quickly alive to the aged gardener's repudiation of any doubt cast on his powers. "But surely you can be better employed than in mere digging. Are there laborers to be hired in the village?" Smith swept the bare meadow-land with the appraising eyes of knowledge. "Plenty of 'em, sir. The hay is in, an' they'll be slack enough now for another month." "Very well. Send your order to Bland, including such implements as you may need. Hire three or four men, and get them busy. By the way, have you heard that Miss Meg is here?" "Miss Meg! Our Miss Meg?" Smith's astonishment was not feigned. He was slightly dazzled already by the way in which his new employer had received suggestions for the regeneration of the garden; now, he was thoroughly bewildered. "Yes," said Armathwaite, watching him narrowly. "She may join us any minute. Of course, if she expresses any preference for a particular method of laying out the flower-beds, you will adopt it without question." "Why, sir," said the old man simply, "if it's the same Miss Meg as I hev' in mind I'll not charge you a penny for what little I can do about the place. It'll be enough for me to see her bonnie face again an' hear her voice." "I'll tell her that," laughed Armathwaite. "But we don't trade on those terms. You were happy here, I suppose, before Mr. Garth died?"