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Generally our efforts were along more conventional lines. I remember a rose-garden with a sundial in the middle of it. The roses, to preserve them from frost, were carefully wrapped in sacking during severe weather, and an irreverent soldier, fresh from the trenches, commented on the fact that "These blighters at the base are growing sandbags." We were short of implements, but we dug.
You have to use firm methods here," Sheila said in reply. "It is not all a rose-garden. You have to apply force." Lord Mallow smiled grimly. "C'est la force morale toujours." "Ah, I should not have thought it was moral force always," was the ironical reply. "We have criminals here," declared the governor with aplomb, "and they need some handling, I assure you.
Did you ever see weather made to order before? I feel as if I had been measured for it." "It suits my garden down to the ground," said Polly, who hates slang. "It was planned for the farmer, madam. If it happens to fit the rose-garden mistress, it is a detail for you to note and be thankful for, but the great things are outside the rose gardens. Look at that corn-field!
Rose-garden and vineyard are gone; there are no fields, nor hedgerows, nor gables seen picturesquely on a sky, human with smoke mildly ascending.
The usual shower of congratulations descended upon the heads of Nan and Roger when, on their return from the rose-garden, the news of their engagement filtered through the house-party and the little bunch of friends who had "dropped in" for tea, sure of the unfailing hospitality of Mallow Court.
P. from the old chair, off flies Tummus to change his clothes, and in an incredibly short space of time Sir John Hawbuck, my Lady Hawbuck, and Master Hugh Hawbuck are introduced into the garden with brazen effrontery by Thomas, who says, 'Please Sir Jan and my Lady to walk this year way: I KNOW Missus is in the rose-garden. And there, sure enough, she was!
These letters were signed "Jack." "Jack" wrote to say how the world was all in bloom and the rose-garden one bewildering maze of blossoms; how Mama was still embroidering from nature in the midst thereof, crowned with a wreath of butterflies and with one uncommonly large one perched upon her Psyche shoulder and fanning her cheek with its brilliantly dyed wing; how Eugene was reveling in his art, painting lovely pictures of the old Spanish Missions with shadowy outlines of the ghostly fathers, long since departed, haunting the dismantled cloisters; how the air was like the breath of heaven, and the twilight unspeakably pathetic, and they were all three constantly reminded of Italy and forever talking of Rome and the Campagna, and Venice, and imagining themselves at home again and Paul with them, for they had resolved that he was quite out of his element in California; they had sworn he must be rescued; he must return with them to Italy and that right early.
The night was warm, and before undressing she put out her light, and threw up her window. There was a moon nearly at the full outside, and across the misty stretches of the park the owls were calling. Suddenly she heard a distant footstep, and drew back from the window. A man was pacing slowly up and down an avenue of pollarded limes which divided the rose-garden from the park.
Sidney, beneath a sumptuous patch-work quilt, was smoking. 'Nah! I'm only thankin' God I ain't my own landlord. Take that cheer. What's she done? 'It hasn't gone down enough for me to make sure. 'Them floodgates o' yourn'll be middlin' far down the brook by now; an' your rose-garden have gone after 'em. I saved my chickens, though.
Carleton," said Fleda after a little time, "did you ever carry out that plan of a rose-garden that you were talking of a long while ago?" "You remember it?" said he with a pleased look. "Yes that was one of the first things I set about after I went home but I did not follow the regular fashion of arrangement that one of your friends is so fond of."
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