His hat was the older of the two, and not by any means
"canonical." Having found him, I went up to the bed where he was busy,
and sat down on the grass near him, without speaking. (I was
accustomed to respect my father's "busy" moments, and yet to be with
him.) Rubens followed my example, and sat down in silence also. He had
smelt the parson before, and wagged his tail faintly as he saw him.
But he reserved his opinion of the gardener, and seemed rather
disposed to growl when he touched the wheelbarrow.
"Bless me!" said Mr. Andrewes, who was startled, as he well might be,
by my appearance. "Why, my dear boy, how are you?"
"Very well, thank you," said I, getting up and offering my hand; "I've
dropped in."
"Dear me!" said Mr. Andrewes; "I mean, I'm very glad to see you! Won't
you come in? You mustn't sit on the grass."
"What a pretty garden you have!" I said, as we walked slowly towards
the house. Mr. Andrewes turned round.
"Well, pretty well. It amuses me, you know," he said, with the mock
humility of a real horticulturist. And he looked round his garden with
an unmistakable glance of pride and affection. "Have you a garden,
Reginald?" he inquired.
Pages:
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140