is plans), but Bessy's aunt had not forgotten about
it, which was very good of her.

The Squire's Weeding Woman is old enough to be Bessy's aunt, but she
has an aunt of her own, who lives seven miles on the other side of the
Moor, and the Weeding Woman does not get to see her very often. It is
a very out-of-the-way village, and she has to wait for chances of a
cart and team coming and going from one of the farms, and so get a
lift.

It was the Weeding Woman's aunt who sent me the hose-in-hose.

The Weeding Woman told me--"Aunt be mortal fond of her flowers, but
she've no notions of gardening, not in the ways of a gentleman's
garden. But she be after 'em all along, so well as the roomatiz in her
back do let her, with an old shovel and a bit of stuff to keep the
frost out, one time, and the old shovel and a bit of stuff to keep 'em
moistened from the drought, another time; cuddling of 'em like
Christians. 'Ee zee, Miss, Aunt be advanced in years; her family be
off her mind, zum married, zum buried; and it zim as if her flowers be
like new childern for her, spoilt childern, too, as I zay, and most
fuss about they that be least worth it, zickly uns and contrairy uns,
as parents will. Many's time I do say to she--'Th' Old Zquire's
garden, now, 'twould zim strange to thee, sartinly 'twould! How would
'ee feel to see Gardener zowing's spring plants by the hunderd, and
a-throwing of 'em away by the score when beds be vull, and turning of
un out for bedding plants, and throwing they away when he'eve made
his cuttings?' And she 'low she couldn't abear it, no more'n see Herod
a mass-sakering of the Innocents. But if 'ee come to Bible, I do say
Aunt put me in mind of the par'ble of the talents, she do, for what
you give her she make ten of, while other folks be losing what they
got. And 'tis well too, for if 'twas not for givin' of un away,
seeing's she lose nothing and can't abear to destry nothin', and never
takes un up but to set un again, six in place of one, as I say, with
such a mossel of a garden, 'Aunt, where would you be?' And she 'low
she can't tell, but the Lard would provide. 'Thank He,' I says, 'you
be so out o' way, and 'ee back so bad, and past travelling, zo there
be no chance of 'ee ever seem' Old Zquire's Gardener's houses and they
stove plants;' for if Gardener give un a pot, sure's death her'd set
it in the chimbly nook on frosty nights, and put bed-quilt over un,
and any cold corner would do for she."

At