"Certainly, sir, certainly," said Rachel, longing for the man to go. But
when he was gone, she wished him back--anything would be better than
this aimless wandering from room to room, and from yard to garden and
back again.
"I suppose
he will sit here," murmured Tabitha, dropping wearily
on to the settee under the apple-trees.
"I suppose so," her sister assented. "I wonder if
she knows how
to grow roses; they'll certainly die if she doesn't!" And Rachel crushed
a worm under her foot with unnecessary vigor.
"Oh, I hope they'll tend to the vines on the summerhouse, Rachel, and
the pansies--you don't think they'll let them run to seed, do you? Oh,
dear!" And Tabitha sprang nervously to her feet and started backyto the
house.
Mr. Hazelton appeared the next morning with two men--an architect and a
landscape gardener. Rachel was in the summerhouse, and the first she
knew of their presence was the sound of talking outside.
"You'll want to grade it down there," she heard a strange voice say,
"and fill in that little hollow; clear away all those rubbishy posies,
and mass your flowering shrubs in the background. Those roses are no
particular good, I fancy; we'll move such as are worth anything, and
make a rose-bed on the south side--we'll talk over the varieties you
want, later.
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