He gave the little box edging a blow with the flat of the spade, with the effect that a great snail rolled out on to the path, and suffered death beneath the old gardener's heel, being crushed and ground into the gravel with savage earnestness. "That I will," said the old fellow, and then he walked away, meeting before he had gone many yards a tall, dark, grave-looking man of about thirty, coming slowly along the path reading. He was scrupulously attired in glossy black with tie to match, grey check trousers, and faultless shirt front, while his hat was of the most glossy. The hands that held the volume were white and carefully kept, while the expression of the man's face was that of some calm, thoughtful student, who passed the greater portion of his life with books, not men. "Ah, gardener," he said softly, and his voice was very rich and deep, "what a lovely day! Your garden looks exquisite. I hope you are quite well." "Tidy, sir, thank you kindly, tidy; and, yes, the garden do look well just now, if we could keep out the thieves." "Ah! yes, the birds, and slugs, and snails, and insects," said the other with a soft, grave smile; "but we must not forget, gardener, that these poor things do not comprehend the difference between right and wrong. The fair fruits of the earth are growing in their path, and they do not understand why they may not freely eat." "No, sir, of course not," said Monnick, giving his ear a vicious rub, "but they has to pay for it precious dear when they are ketched." "Yes, gardener, yes, poor things," said the other, letting his head sink sidewise; and shutting his book upon one finger he crossed his wrists so that the work hung lightly from his shapely hand, while his eyes half-closed and a dreamy, thoughtful look came upon his face. "It's a deal o' mischief they do, sir, like plagues of Egyp' they'd be if they weren't stopped." "All, yes, gardener," said the other contemplatively, "but it often strikes me as being one of the darker sides of horticultural pursuits, that the gardener's way is by a path of blood." John Monnick pushed his old straw hat a little on one side and stared. "I saw traps down by the wood to catch the soft velvet mole, a wire by a hole in the fence to take the harmless rabbit." "Harmless, sir? He took the hearts out of a row of young cauliflowers all in one night." "Ah, yes, but he sinned in ignorance. Then you are always destroying life. That implement you hold pierces the ground and cuts in two the burrowing worm. There was a scent of pungent fumes in the greenhouse and myriads of tiny flies lay scattered in the pots dead from the poisonous smoke. You crush the snail and slug, the beetle, and the grub. The birds are often shot. Yes, yes, I think I'm right; your path is marked by blood, but this place is very bright and beautiful, gardener." "Yes, sir, it is," said Monnick, changing his spade to the other hand so as to tilt his straw hat the other way.