high, and the young gardener's fancy
lightly turned to thoughts of large crops, SARK and I were resting
after a frugal luncheon, when ARPACHSHAD suddenly appeared at the open
window. I knew from his beaming face that something was wrong.

Perhaps I should explain that ARPACHSHAD is our head gardener. We have
no other, therefore he is the head. Out of the garden he is known as
PETER WALLOPS. It was SARK who insisted upon calling him ARPACHSHAD.
SARK had noticed that about the time of the Flood there was singular
deliberation in entering upon the marriage state. Matrimony did not
seem to be thought of till a man had turned the corner of a century.
SHEM, himself, for example, was fully a hundred before his third
son, ARPACHSHAD, was born. But ARPACHSHAD was already a husband and a
father at thirty-five.

"That," said SARK, "is a remarkable circumstance that has escaped
the notice of the commentators. It indicates unusual forwardness
of character and a habit of swift decision. We hear nothing more of
ARPACHSHAD, but we may be sure he made things move. Now what we want
in this garden is a brisk man, a fellow always up to date, if not
ahead of it. Let us encourage WALLOPS by calling him ARPACHSHAD."

WALLOPS on being consulted said, he thought it ought to be a matter of
another two shillings a-week in his wages; to which I demurred, and it
was finally compromised on the basis of a rise of a shilling a-week.
As far as I have observed, SARK'S device, like many others he has put
forward, has nothing in it. WALLOPS couldn't be slower in going round
than is ARPACHSHAD. The only time he ever displays any animation is
when he discovers some fresh disaster. When things are going well
(which isn't often) he is gloomy and apprehensive of an early change
for the worse. When the worst comes he positively beams over it.
Difficult to say whether he enjoys himself more in an over-wet season,
or in one of drought. His special and ever-recurring joy is the
discovery of some insect breaking out in a fresh place. He is always
on the look-out for the Mottled Amber Moth, or the Frit-fly, or
the Currant Scale, or the Apple-bark Beetle, or the Mustard
Beetle,--"Black Jack," as he familiarly calls him. To see, as is
not unfrequent, a promising apple-tree, cherry-tree, or damson-tree,
fading under the attack of the caterpillars of the Winter Moth, makes
ARPACHSHAD a new man. His back unbends, his wrinkles smooth out, the
gleam of faded youth reil