"Faith," says I, "'tis aisy done; I will jist set a bookay o' hothouse cabbages in the vases, an' if, mebbe, the Colonel would be comin' home on lave an' should ax a nosegay to stick in his coat, begob I'll have a fine sprig of parsley for him," says I. "Ye poor man," says she, "'twill sour the heart within ye." Ah! That was the true word, 'twas like pullin' me heart's blood out be the roots to desthroy thim flowers; but it had to be done. War is war. By June the garden was nothin' but a say of vigitables, an' divil a touch of colour to take your eye was there in it, no matter how long you'd look. Wan day I am up at the yard, seein' if, mebbe, Anne Toher would have the taste o' tay in the pot, meself havin' a thirst on me that would face the Shannon by dint of the hoein' I was afther doin' in the spud plantations, whin the woman puts her head out of the kitchen winda. "Whist, Delaney," says she, "there's gintry to lunch," says she. "Phwat gintry?" says I. "Sir Patrick Freebody, o' Michaelstown," says she, an' at that me blood run cowld. Sir Patrick Freebody had the grandest garden over at Michaelstown that ivver you'd see in the nation of Ireland, an' a cousin to me, John O'Callaghan, was gardener to him. There was no love betwane us either, by the same token. I would as soon wake John O'Callaghan as I would the Divil, an' that's the morthal truth, for all that he was a cousin to me. I knew how 'twould be as sure as I was alive in this worrld. Owld Sir Pat would be into lunch before a bare board, an' whin he wint home to Michaelstown he would be tellin' John O'Callaghan, an' I would be skinned raw wid the jeerin' an' blaggardin' the same John O'Callaghan would have wid me. "Whisper, whin will they be atein'?" says I to Anne Toher. "In ten minutes, please God, an' the spuds are soft," says she. "Begob," says I to meself, "I'll set flowers on that table or cut my throat across," an' I ran away, not knowin' where I'd be findin' thim, not within five miles. But I was not half-way round the laurel bushes whin the Blessed Saints sent me light. In sivin minuites I had flowers in the middle bowl, an' backed away behindt the hat-racks as Herself an' owld Sir Pat comes out of the drawin'-room an' goes in to lunch. I set me eye to the kayhole and watched, me heart like water betwane me teeth. Owld Sir Pat, he mumbles an' coughs an' talks about the weather, an' the war, an' the recruitin'. Herself she talks about the soldiers' shest-protectors an' her war work, an' how she was scared the Colonel was sittin' about at the Front wid wet fate. Presently the owld man notices the flowers in the bowl an' lanes over the table blinkin' at thim through his spectacles in his half-blind way.