and that quickly, or she trembled to think what
her friends and relatives would have to say upon the subject of the
"finest garden in the county." With a vision of a prophetess she saw
before her paths of green sward arched with roses, a lily garden, sweet
and cool, and fragrant harmonies of colour massed against the trees; but
these were in the future, and in the present there were only empty beds,
with little sprigs of green peering up here and there through the dry
caked soil.

"At least I can dig up the beds and get rid of the weeds, and then
perhaps for this summer only we might take refuge in geraniums and
begonias. Just for one summer, till something else will grow." She
sighed, and set to work with her spade, giving it a push into the ground
with her foot in professional style, and pausing to gasp and straighten
her back between every second or third attempt. Astonishing what hard
work it was, and how hot one got all of a sudden! Peggy gathered the
weeds together, moralised darkly on their number, and set to work on the
surrounding beds, digging so vigorously that in an hour's time she felt
as if a week in bed would be barely sufficient to recoup her exhausted
energies. Too weary to cross to a seat, she was holding on to her
spade, and slowly straightening her back, when she became conscious that
the foreman had approached from the house, and was regarding her with
curious eyes.

"There's two pieces short of that there paper for the drawing-room," he
announced. "I thought fourteen pieces would ha' done it; but it's been
a mistake, it seems. 'Ave to get it made, I suppose, to finish the
corner."

"Oh, how dreadfully, dreadfully tiresome! We will have to wait weeks
and weeks before we can get it, and it will keep everything back."

Peggy wrung her tired hands and looked the image of despair.

"You said that you were sure fourteen pieces would be enough; and we
told you at the time to be careful, as it had to be made!"

"Ay, it do seem a pity, don't it? They rarely ever gets it the same
shade a second time," the man replied blandly. Then he jerked his thumb
towards the flower-beds, and put a deprecatory question: "Didn't you
like them, then? Wasn't they your fancy?"

"I don't know what you are talking about. Was what my fancy?"

"Those 'ere things as they put in yesterday. I thought, maybe, they was
something special, from the care they took about 'em." He gave an
explanatory kick with his f