“Ay, sir, Mr. Fergus will have it that the cottagers are obstinate because they wont try for the easy things as he wants them to.  The common garden stuff they show has allers been disgraceful, and yet, sometimes they interfere with him and take a prize for flowers.  ’That shows they know their own business,’ says I; ’it don’t follow that because my parrot can talk, my dog’s obstinate because he won’t learn his letters.’  ‘Mr. Swan,’ says he, ’you’re so smothered in illustrations, there’s no argufying with you.’  Master Johnnie, you was to drink your beef tea by this time.”

“Not just yet.  I hate it.  Tell me the rest about Fergus.”

“‘Well,’ he said, ‘I mean no disrespect to you, Mr. Swan.’  ‘No?’ says I.  ‘No,’ said he, ’but you and I air that high among the competitors that if we didn’t try against one another we could allers hev it our own way.  Now, if you’ll not show your piccatees this time, I’ll promise you not to bring forrard so much as one pelagonium.’”

“The cheat!” exclaimed Johnnie.  “Why we have none worth mentioning, and the piccatees are splendid, Swanny.”

“That’s it, sir.  He’d like me to keep out of his way, and then, however hard it might be on the other gardeners, he’d have all the county prizes thrown open to the cottagers, that’s to say, those he doesn’t want himself.  He’s allers for being generous with what’s not his.  He said as much to me as that he wished this could be managed.  He thought it would be handy for us, and good for the poor likewise.  ‘That,’ I says, ’would be much the same as if a one-legged man should steal a pair of boots, and think to make it a righteous action by giving away the one he didn’t want in charity.’  As he was so fond of illustrations, I thought I’d give him enough of them.  ‘Mr. Swan,’ says he, rather hot, ’this here is very plain speaking.’  ‘I paid for my pipe myself,’ says I, ’and I shall smoke it which side my mouth I please.’  So now you know why we quarrelled, sir.  It’s the talk of all the country round, and well it may be, for there’s nobody fit to hold a candle to us two, and all the other gardeners know it.”

“I’ll drink the stuff now,” said Johnnie.  “Father, is that you?”

“Yes, my dearest boy.”

“You can’t think how well I feel tonight, father.  Swanny, go down and have some supper, and mind you come again.”

“Ay, to be sure, Mr. Johnnie.”

“You’re not going to sit up tonight, my good old friend,” said John, passing into the room.

“Well, no, sir, Mr. Johnnie hev cheated the doctor to that extent that he’s not to hev anybody by him this night, the nurse is to come in and give him a look pretty frequent, and that’s all.”

John came and sat by his boy, took his thin hand, and kissed him.

“It’s a lark, having old Swanny,” said the young invalid, “he’s been reading me a review of Mr. Brandon’s book.  He told Val that Smiles at the post office had read it, and didn’t think much of it, but that it showed Mr. Brandon had a kind heart.  ‘And so he has,’ said Swan, ’and he couldn’t hide that if he wished to.  Why, he’s as good as a knife that has pared onions, sir,—­everything it touches relishes of ’em.’”