"I would give something to be able to ease him, Monnick. Well, I'll take your advice." "Do, sir, do. Bless me, I could stand all day and hear you talk, sir, but I must be getting on. An'," he added, as the doctor strolled off, "it's curious, very curious, but I s'pose it's all true, but I don't kind o' like to hear a man, even if he be a gentleman, upsetting all what you've been taught and cherished like." He went on weeding for a few minutes, and then straightened himself once more. "The robin and the wren be God's cock and hen. Well, now I come to think of it, I never see 'em together. P'r'aps the doctor's right." Volume 2, Chapter VIII. OLD JOHN IS PATERNAL, AND FANNY MAKES A PROMISE. "Now do give me a rose, Mr Monnick; do, please." "Give you a rose, my dear?" said John Monnick, pausing in his task of thinning out the superabundant growth amongst the swelling grapes. "Well, I don't like to refuse you anything, though it do seem a shame to cut the poor things, when they look so much prettier on the trees." "Oh, but I like to have one to wear, Mr Monnick, to pin in my breast." "And then, as soon as it gets a bit faded, my dear, you chucks it away." "O no; not if it's a nice one, Mr Monnick. I put it in water afterwards, and let it recover." "Putting things in water, 'specially masters, don't always make 'em recover, my dear," said the old man, picking out and snapping off a few more shoots. "Hah!" he cried, after a good sniff at the bunch of succulent pieces, and then placing one acid tendrilled scrap in his mouth, twisting it up, and munching it like some ruminating animal--"smell that, my dear; there's a scent!" and he held out the bunch to the pretty coquettish-looking maid. "_De_-licious, Mr Monnick," said the girl, taking a long sniff at the shoots. "And now you will give me a nice pretty rosebud, won't you?" "I allus observe," said the old man thoughtfully, going on with his work, "that if you want something, Fanny, you calls me Mister Monnick; but if I ask you to do anything for me, or you have an order from Sir James or my lady, it's nothing but plain John." "Oh, I don't always think to call you Mr Monnick," said the girl archly.--"But I must go now. Do give me a nice just opening bud." "Well, if you'll be a good girl, and promise only to take one, I'll give you leave to fetch your scissors and cut a Homer." "What! one of those nasty common-looking little dirty pinky ones?" cried the girl. "No, thank you; I want one of those." As she spoke, she pointed to a trellis at the end of the greenhouse, over which was trailed the abundant growth of a hook-thorned climbing rose. "What, one o' my Ma'shal Niels?" cried the old gardener. "I should just think not. Besides," he added with a grim smile, "yaller wouldn't suit your complexion." "Now, don't talk stuff," cried the girl. "Yellow does suit dark people.--Do cut me one, there's a dear good man."