A RETURN
At the close of a long, warm afternoon Betty Vanderpoel came out upon the square stone terrace overlooking the gardens, and that part of the park which, enclosing them, caused them, as they melted into its greenness, to lose all limitations and appear to be only a more blooming bit of the landscape.
Upon the garden Betty's eyes dwelt, as she stood still for some minutes taking in their effect thoughtfully.
Kedgers had certainly accomplished much.His close-trimmed lawns did him credit, his flower beds were flushed and azured, purpled and snowed with bloom.Sweet tall spires, hung with blue or white or rosy flower bells, lifted their heads above the colour of lower growths.Only the fervent affection, the fasting and prayer of a Kedgers could have done such wonders with new things and old.The old ones he had cherished and allured into a renewal of existence--the new ones he had so coaxed out of their earthen pots into the soil, luxuriously prepared for their reception, and had afterwards so nourished and bedewed with soft waterings, so supported, watched over and adored that they had been almost unconscious of their transplanting.Without assistants he could have done nothing, but he had been given a sufficient number of under gardeners, and had even managed to inspire them with something of his own ambition and solicitude.The result was before Betty's eyes in an aspect which, to such as knew the gardens well,--the Dunholms, for instance,--was astonishing in its success.
"I've had privileges, miss, and so have the flowers,"Kedgers had said warmly, when Miss Vanderpoel had reported to him, for his encouragement, Dunholm Castle's praise.
"Not one of 'em has ever had to wait for his food and drink, nor to complain of his bed not being what he was accustomed to.They've not had to wait for rain, for we've given it to 'em from watering cans, and, thank goodness, the season's been kind to 'em."Betty, descending the terrace steps, wandered down the paths between the flower beds, glancing about her as she went.The air of neglect and desolation had been swept away.Buttle and Tim Soames had been given as many privileges as Kedgers.The chief points impressed upon them had been that the work must be done, not only thoroughly, but quickly.As many additional workmen as they required, as much solid material as they needed, but there must be a despatch which at first it staggered them to contemplate.They had not known such methods before.They had been accustomed to work under money limitation throughout their lives, and, when work must be done with insufficient aid, it must be done slowly.Economy had been the chief factor in all calculations, speed had not entered into them, so leisureliness had become a fixed habit.But it seemed American to sweep leisureliness away into space with a free gesture.
"It must be done QUICKLY," Miss Vanderpoel had said.
"If ten men cannot do it quickly enough, you must have twenty--or as many more as are needed.It is time which must be saved just now."Time more than money, it appeared.Buttle's experience had been that you might take time, if you did not charge for it.When time began to mean money, that was a different matter.If you did work by the job, you might drive in a few nails, loiter, and return without haste; if you worked by the hour, your absence would be inquired into.In the present case no one could loiter.That was realised early.
The tall girl, with the deep straight look at you, made you realise that without spoken words.She expected energy something like her own.She was a new force and spurred them.
No man knew how it was done, but, when she appeared among them--even in the afternoon--"lookin' that womany," holding up her thin dress over lace petticoats, the like of which had not been seen before, she looked on with just the same straight, expecting eyes.They did not seem to doubt in the least that she would find that great advance had been made.
So advance had been made, and work accomplished.As Betty walked from one place to another she saw the signs of it with gratification.The place was not the one she had come to a few months ago.Hothouses, outbuildings, stables were in repair.Work was still being done in different places.
In the house itself carpenters or decorators were enclosed in some rooms, and at their business, but exterior order prevailed.In the courtyard stablemen were at work, and her own groom came forward touching his forehead.She paid a visit to the horses.They were fine creatures, and, when she entered their stalls, made room for her and whinnied gently, in well-founded expectation of sugar and bread which were kept in a cupboard awaiting her visits.She smoothed velvet noses and patted satin sides, talking to Mason a little before she went her way.
Then she strolled into the park.The park was always a pleasure.She was in a thoughtful mood, and the soft green shadowed silence lured her.The summer wind hus-s-shed the branches as it lightly waved them, the brown earth of the avenue was sun-dappled, there were bird notes and calls to be heard here and there and everywhere, if one only arrested one's attention a moment to listen.And she was in a listening and dreaming mood--one of the moods in which bird, leaf, and wind, sun, shade, and scent of growing things have part.
And yet her thoughts were of mundane things.
It was on this avenue that G.Selden had met with his accident.He was still at Dunstan vicarage, and yesterday Mount Dunstan, in calling, had told them that Mr.Penzance was applying himself with delighted interest to a study of the manipulation of the Delkoff.
