MISS MIDDLETON has a garden of which she is very proud. Miss
Middleton's father says it belongs to him, and this idea is fostered
to the extent that he is allowed to pay for the seeds and cuttings
and things. He is also encouraged to order the men about. But I
always think of it as Miss Middleton's garden, particularly when the
afternoons are hot and I see nothing but grimy bricks out of my
window. She knows all the flowers by name, which seems to me rather
remarkable.
"I have come," I announced, feeling that some excuse was necessary,
"to see the lobretias; don't say that they are out. I mean, of
course, do say that they are out."
"But I don't think we have any," she said in surprise. "I've never
heard of them. What are they like?"
"They're just the ordinary sort of flower that people point to and
say, 'That's a nice lobretia.' Dash it, you've got a garden, you
ought to know."
"I am afraid," smiled Miss Middleton, "that there isn't such a
flower--not yet. Perhaps somebody will invent it now they've got the
name."
"Then I suppose I must go back to London," I said, getting up.
"Bother."
"Stay and inspect the meter," pleaded Miss Middleton. "Or ask father
for a subscription for the band. Surely you can think of SOME excuse
for being here."
"I will stay," I said, sitting down again, "and talk to you. Between
ourselves, it is one of the reasons why I came. I thought you might
like to hear all the latest news. Er--we've started strawberries in
London."
Miss Middleton sighed and shook her head.
"But not here," she said.
"I was afraid not, but I thought I'd remind you in case. Well, after
all, what ARE strawberries? Let's talk about something else. Do you
know that this is going to be the greatest season of history? I've
got a free pass to the Earl's Court Exhibition, so I shall be right
in the thick of it."
"Oh, I thought last season was the great one."
"It was spoilt by the Coronation, the papers say. You remember how
busy we were at the Abbey; we hadn't time for anything else."
"What else do the papers say? I seem to have missed them lately.
I've had a thousand things to do."
"Well, the Sardine Defence League has just been formed. I think of
putting up for it. I suppose you have to swear to do one kind action
to a sardine everyday. Let's both join, and then we shall probably
get a lot of invitations."
"Do they have a tent at the Eton and Harrow match?" asked Miss
Middleton anxiously.
"I will inquire. I wonder if there is a Vice-Presidency vacant. I
should think a Vice-President of the Sardine Defence League could go
anywhere."
"V.P.S.D.L.," said Miss Middleton thoughtfully. "It would look
splendid. I must remember to send you a postcard to-morrow."
Tea came, and I put my deck-chair one rung up to meet it. It is
difficult in a horizontal position to drink without spilling
anything, and it looks so bad to go about covered with tea.
"This is very jolly," I said. "Do you know that my view during
working hours consists of two broken windows and fifty square feet
of brick? It's not enough. It's not what I call a vista. On fine
days I have to go outside to see whether the sun is shining."
"You oughtn't to want to look out of the window when you're working.
You'll never be a Mayor."
"Well, it all makes me appreciate the country properly. I wish I
knew more about gardens. Tell me all about yours. When are the
raspberries ripe?"
"Not till the end of June."
"I was afraid you'd say that. May I come down and see your garden at
the end of June--one day when I'm not at Earl's Court? You can give
all the gardeners a holiday that day. I hate to be watched when I'm
looking at flowers and things."
"Are you as fond of raspberries as all that? Why didn't I know?"
"I'm not a bit mad about them, really, but they're a symbol of
Summer. On a sloshy day in November, as I grope my way through the
fog, I say to myself, 'Courage, the raspberries will soon be ripe.'"
"But that means that summer is half over. The cuckoo is what I'm
listening for all through November. I heard it in April this year."