"Exactly, Jack," continued Sir James, who was well mounted upon his hobby, "there is no secret about the matter. The delicate fruits of the peach family, and even choicer plums, are most abundant bearers; all they want is a suitable climate to produce their stores. That climate, save, say, once in seven or eight years, England does not afford. The troubles of these aristocrats of the garden begin very early in the year, when, according to their habit, every twig puts forth a wondrous display of crimson, pink, and delicately-tinted white bloom, just at a time when our nipping frosts of early spring are rife. The consequence is that in a few short hours the hopes of a season are blighted. In sheltered positions often, by chance, a few blossoms, as a gardener would say, set their fruit, which run the gauntlet of our fickle clime, and perhaps ripen, but more likely drop from the trees in various stages of their approach to maturity, the whole process being so disheartening that, in a season like the past, many gardeners declared that it was a hopeless effort to attempt to grow peaches and nectarines out-of-doors." The doctor looked at his watch. "All! it isn't breakfast time yet, Jack, and you are in for my lecture. As I was about to say, _nous avons change tout cela_. We build our orchard house handsome or plain, according to our means, and in that shelter we have an artificial climate, such as made some gentlemen from the South of France exclaim, when visiting the gardens of the late Mr Rivers, of Sawbridgeworth, the introducer of the system, `_Ah! Monsieur Rivers, voici notre climat_!' In fact the above gentleman, in his interesting work, says: `An orchard house in the south of England will give as nearly as possible the summer climate of Toulouse.' And this, mind, from sun heat and earth heat alone--heat which, so far from needing increase, has to be modified by abundant ventilation." "Ah! that's what I want you to mind, old fellow," said the doctor; "you are not a plant, and I don't want you to get yourself in a state of heat under the glass here, and then expose yourself to abundant ventilation." "Only like cooling after a Turkish bath," said Sir James. "I don't like Turkish baths," said the doctor, "the overheating affects the nerves." "You are always croaking about the nerves," said Sir James; "but as I was saying--" "Oh! go on, preach the orchard house down," said the doctor, "I'll listen." "I'm preaching it up, man," said Sir James. "Given the matter of the orchard house, then, what next? Presuming that you have taken advantage of the possession of a south or south west wall already covered with trees, and against which you have placed glass roof and simple front and ends, all else necessary is to plant the space unoccupied by nailed-up trees moderately full of little bushes and standards." "I always thought peaches and nectarines ought to be nailed-up against walls till I saw yours," said the doctor.