To one man more than to any other had come an almost unspeakable piece of luck through the new arrival—­a thing which to himself, at least, was as the opening of the heavens.  This man was the discouraged Kedgers.  Miss Vanderpoel, coming with her ladyship to talk to him, found that the man was a person of more experience than might have been imagined.  In his youth he had been an under gardener at a great place, and being fond of his work, had learned more than under gardeners often learn.  He had been one of a small army of workers under the orders of an imposing head gardener, whose knowledge was a science.  He had seen and taken part in what was done in orchid houses, orangeries, vineries, peach houses, conservatories full of wondrous tropical plants.  But it was not easy for a man like himself, uneducated and lacking confidence of character, to advance as a bolder young man might have done.  The all-ruling head gardener had inspired him with awe.  He had watched him reverently, accumulating knowledge, but being given, as an underling, no opportunity to do more than obey orders.  He had spent his life in obeying, and congratulated himself that obedience secured him his weekly wage.

“He was a great man—­Mr. Timson—­he was,” he said, in talking to Miss Vanderpoel.  “Ay, he was that.  Knew everything that could happen to a flower or a s’rub or a vegetable.  Knew it all.  Had a lib’ery of books an’ read ’em night an’ day.  Head gardener’s cottage was good enough for gentry.  The old Markis used to walk round the hothouses an’ gardens talking to him by the hour.  If you did what he told you exactly like he told it to you, then you were all right, but if you didn’t—­well, you was off the place before you’d time to look round.  Worked under him from twenty to forty.  Then he died an’ the new one that came in had new ways.  He made a clean sweep of most of us.  The men said he was jealous of Mr. Timson.”

“That was bad for you, if you had a wife and children,” Miss Vanderpoel said.

“Eight of us to feed,” Kedgers answered.  “A man with that on him can’t wait, miss.  I had to take the first place I could get.  It wasn’t a good one—­poor parsonage with a big family an’ not room on the place for the vegetables they wanted.  Cabbages, an’ potatoes, an’ beans, an’ broccoli.  No time nor ground for flowers.  Used to seem as if flowers got to be a kind of dream.”  Kedgers gave vent to a deprecatory half laugh.  “Me—­I was fond of flowers.  I wouldn’t have asked no better than to live among ’em.  Mr. Timson gave me a book or two when his lordship sent him a lot of new ones.  I’ve bought a few myself—­though I suppose I couldn’t afford it.”

From the poor parsonage he had gone to a market gardener, and had evidently liked the work better, hard and unceasing as it had been, because he had been among flowers again.  Sudden changes from forcing houses to chill outside dampness had resulted in rheumatism.  After that things had gone badly.  He began to be regarded as past his prime of strength.  Lower wages and labour still as hard as ever, though it professed to be lighter, and therefore cheaper.  At last the big neglected gardens of Stornham.