"Now, Ted!" he said, with an assumption of cheerfulness; "we've got everything on nicely, an' we'll step down with you to t' Clough an' get 'em into their places at t' other end. You'll want to have a look round, 'appen, before we leave." "Aye, Ben lad, I tak' it varry kindly 'at ye're givin' yerself all this trouble. It's friendly, lad, friendly. Aye, I sud like to hev a look round for t' last time afore we start." He rose wearily and accompanied Ben up the path. Barjona was standing at the door, and all three went in. They came out before long, and there were no traces of emotion on Ted's ruddy face. But as he looked up and down the garden his lips quivered, though he mastered himself with an effort. The gladioli and hollyhocks made a brave show amid the humbler sweet-williams and marigolds, but they would have to be left. He stopped opposite the rose-bush. "Ben, lad," he said, "ye'll do me one more favour, willn't ye? Get me a spade off o' t' cart, will ye? I've left it till t' last minute, for I can 'ardly bide to root it up, but I munnut leave that tree be'ind." One of the men had darted off at the mention of the word "spade," and the beloved implement--the old man's faithful friend--was placed in his hand. "Thee an' me's hed monny a grand time together, lad," he said, apostrophising the spade, "but nivver such a sad job as this afore. A sad job, aye, a sad job. But we've got to do it, lad, ye an' me." He put his foot upon it and prepared to dig up the tree, when Barjona interposed. Every word was clearly heard by the group in the roadway. "Steady there! ... what ye goin' to do?" "Nobbut just dig t' tree up, Barjona." "Leave t' tree alone ... that tree's mine." Ted looked at him and his hands began to tremble. "Ye don't meean, Barjona, 'at ye won't let me tak' t' rose-tree away wi' me?" "Ye tak' nowt out of t' garden ... all what's rooted in t' soil belongs to me ... paid good money for it.... Put yer spade away." "Look 'ere, Mr. Higgins," interrupted Ben, "do you mean to tell me 'at you're going to prevent Ted takin' a bit of a rose-tree with him? If you do, you're a harder-'earted old wretch than I took you for." Angry murmurs arose from the crowd, but Barjona's jaw stiffened and there was no hint of yielding in his tone. "Right's right," he said ... "that rose-tree's mine ... took a partic'lar fancy to it ... won't part with it for nob'dy." Ted fumbled in his pocket and produced a wash-leather bag, the neck of which was tied round with string. With shaking fingers he felt for a coin and drew out a half-sovereign. "I'll pay ye for't, Barjona. Sitha, I'll give ye ten shillin' for t' plant." "Put yer brass back, Ted ... brass willn't buy it ... took my fancy, that tree has ... you mun buy another." Sar'-Ann's mother pushed her way through and strode up to the stubborn, grasping man, and shook her fist in his face.