“There's no one,” said the gardener, “as has as many enemies as a gardener, an' as many things to fight. There's grubs an' there's greenfly, an' there's drout', an' wet an' cold, an' mildew, an' there's what the soil wants and starves without, an' if you haven't got it nor yet hands an' feet an' tools enough, how's things to feed, an' fight an' live--let alone bloom an' bear?” “I don't know much about gardens,” said Miss Vanderpoel, “but I can understand that.” The scent of fresh bedewed things was in the air. It was true that she had not known much about gardens, but here standing in the midst of one she began to awaken to a new, practical interest. A creature of initiative could not let such a place as this alone. It was beauty being slowly slain. One could not pass it by and do nothing. “What is your name?” she asked “Kedgers, miss. I've only been here about a twelve-month. I was took on because I'm getting on in years an' can't ask much wage.” “Can you spare time to take me through the gardens and show me things?” Yes, he could do it. In truth, he privately welcomed an opportunity offering a prospect of excitement so novel. He had shown more flourishing gardens to other young ladies in his past years of service, but young ladies did not come to Stornham, and that one having, with such extraordinary unexpectedness arrived, should want to look over the desolation of these, was curious enough to rouse anyone to a sense of a break in accustomed monotony. The young lady herself mystified him by her difference from such others as he had seen. What the man in the shabby livery had felt, he felt also, and added to this was a sense of the practicalness of the questions she asked and the interest she showed and a way she had of seeming singularly to suggest by the look in her eyes and the tone of her voice that nothing was necessarily without remedy. When her ladyship walked through the place and looked at things, a pale resignation expressed itself in the very droop of her figure. When this one walked through the tumbled-down grape-houses, potting-sheds and conservatories, she saw where glass was broken, where benches had fallen and where roofs sagged and leaked. She inquired about the heating apparatus and asked that she might see it. She asked about the village and its resources, about labourers and their wages. “As if,” commented Kedgers mentally, “she was what Sir Nigel is--leastways what he'd ought to be an' ain't.” She led the way back to the fallen wall and stood and looked at it. “It's a beautiful old wall,” she said. “It should be rebuilt with the old brick. New would spoil it.” “Some of this is broken and crumbled away,” said Kedgers, picking up a piece to show it to her. “Perhaps old brick could be bought somewhere,” replied the young lady speculatively. “One ought to be able to buy old brick in England, if one is willing to pay for it.”