Part 4 (2/2)

”I've got the double daisy that Aunt Maggie gave me, and Chrissie Howard is going to bring me a 'sturtium in a pot. She said it was to put on the window-sill, but I shall put it in my garden.”

”I can get you a marigold the next time I go past Carter's, on my way to Woodley. Billy Carter offered me one the other day; they're growing like weeds in their garden.”

Margery danced with joy. ”That'll be three flowers in my garden; I'll be able to pick some soon, won't I?”

That night William Hender came home earlier from his after-supper gossip at the 'Red Lion,' and, as usual, strolled about outside the house while he finished out his pipe. To-night his footsteps led him down his garden, and instinctively he went in search of the herb-bed again. Before he reached it he came upon fresh signs of digging and raking, and a larger patch of newly-turned earth, with the tools still lying beside it.

”This must be for one of the boys,” he thought to himself, as he stooped to look closer. He admired the thoroughness of the work, or as much of it as he could see in the moonlight. On his way to the tool-shed with the tools he pa.s.sed Bella's herb-bed, and then the newly-turned piece beside it caught his eye and brought him to a standstill.

”That must be the little one's,” he said to himself, as he looked down at it. ”Of course she must have what the others have! I wonder what she's got planted in it?” He bent lower and lower, but in the uncertain light he could not distinguish what the little clump of green was, and at last he had to go down on his knee in the path and light a match.

”One double daisy, bless her heart! It's that daisy root she has set so much store on ever since Maggie Langley gave it to her. Bless her baby heart!” he said once more and very tenderly, and as he rose from the ground again he sighed heavily, and pa.s.sed his hand across his eyes more than once.

”I'd like to give her a s'prise,” he thought to himself. ”I'd dearly love to give her a s'prise, and I will too. It'll please her ever so much.”

The thought of it pleased him ever so much too, and he went in and went to bed feeling in a happier mood than he had done for a long time. The mood was on him the next morning too, when he came down to breakfast.

”Where are the children?” he asked, as he went to the scullery for his heavy working boots.

”Oh, out in the garden. They are mad about the garden for the time,” said Aunt Emma, with a laugh. ”Bella seemed troubled 'cause there was nothing in it, so they're going to set matters right. She has planted a few herbs, and Charlie is making a strawberry bed. I don't know how long it'll last, I'm sure. They soon tires of most things.”

”Ay, ay, children mostly do,” was all that their father answered, but as soon as his boots were fastened he sauntered out into the garden in search of them.

”Breakfast's ready,” called his sister after him. ”Call the children, will you?”

”I'll go and fetch them,” he said, and made his way to where he heard their voices.

When she caught sight of him Margery left the others and ran towards him.

”Daddy! daddy! come and look at my garden. Bella says she thinks my daisy has taken root! Now it'll soon have lots of daisies on it, won't it? and I'll give you a piece of root. Wouldn't you like that? Daddy, won't you have a garden too, and have flowers in it?”

”Why, all the garden is father's,” cried Charlie, laughing at her, and with one accord they all turned and looked over the garden which was 'all father's,' and the untidiness, the look of neglect stamped upon everything, brought a sense of shame to the father's heart.

”But there aren't any flowers,” sighed Margery.

Aunt Emma's voice was heard calling them in to breakfast.

”No, there ain't any now, but there will be,” said her father gravely.

The words, though to Margery they sounded so simple, were a promise made to himself and to his dead wife to do better in the future than in the past. ”By G.o.d's help!” he added, under his breath.

That evening, when he came home from work, he made his way at once out into the garden. He had brought home some bundles of young cabbage plants, and was going to make a bed for them.

”It's too late for most things, but I can do something with the ground,”

he said to himself, as he went to the tool-shed for his fork and shovel.

The children had gone into Woodley on an errand for their aunt, but might be back at any moment now. The four tidy little patches of ground made the rest of the garden look more wretchedly neglected than ever before; they were to him like four reproaches from his four neglected children.

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