them out at the pit. They would
have made good oak furniture. There was nothing special or particular
about this gateway; he had done the same in turn for every gateway on
the farm; it was the Iden way.

A splendid gate it was, when it was finished, fit for a nobleman's Home
Park. I doubt, if you would find such a gate, so well proportioned, and
made of such material on any great estate in the kingdom. For not even
dukes can get an Iden to look after their property. An Iden is not to be
"picked up," I can tell you.

The neighbourhood round about had always sneered in the broad country
way at Iden's gates. "Vit for m' Lard's park. What do _he_ want wi' such
geates? A' ain't a got no cattle to speak on; any ould rail ud do as
good as thuck geat."

The neighbourhood round about could never understand Iden, never could
see why he had gone to such great trouble to render the homestead
beautiful with trees, why he had re-planted the orchard with pleasant
eating apples in the place of the old cider apples, hard and sour. "Why
wouldn't thaay a' done for he as well as for we?"

All the acts of Iden seemed to the neighbourhood to be the acts of a
"vool."

When he cut a hedge, for instance, Iden used to have the great bushes
that bore unusually fine May bloom saved from the billhook, that they
might flower in the spring. So, too, with the crab-apples--for the sake
of the white blossom; so, too, with the hazel--for the nuts.

But what caused the most "wonderment" was the planting of the
horse-chestnuts in the corner of the meadow? Whatever did he want with
horse-chestnuts? No other horse-chestnuts grew about there. You couldn't
eat the horse-chestnuts when they dropped in autumn.

In truth Iden built for all time, and not for the little circumstance of
the hour. His gate was meant to last for years, rain and shine, to
endure any amount of usage, to be a work of Art in itself.

His gate as the tangible symbol of his mind--was at once his strength
and his folly. His strength, for it was such qualities as these that
made Old England famous, and set her on the firm base whereon she now
stands--built for all Time. His folly, because he made too much of
little things, instead of lifting his mind higher.

If only he could have lived three hundred years the greater world would
have begun to find out Iden and to idolize him, and make pilgrimages
from over sea to Coombe Oaks, to hear him talk, for Iden could talk of
the trees and