Once a Week

  THE LANDSCAPE GARDENER

  Really I know nothing about flowers. By a bit of luck, James, mygardener, whom I pay half a crown a week for combing the beds, knowsnothing about them either; so my ignorance remains undiscovered. But inother people's gardens I have to make something of an effort to keep upappearances. Without flattering myself I may say that I have acquired acertain manner; I give the impression of the garden lover, or the manwith shares in a seed company, or--or something.

  For instance, at Creek Cottage, Mrs. Atherley will say to me, "That's an_Amphilobertus Gemini_," pointing to something which I hadn't noticedbehind a rake.

  "I am not a bit surprised," I say calmly.

  "And a _Gladiophinium Banksii_ next to it."

  "I suspected it," I confess in a hoarse whisper.

  Towards flowers whose names I know I adopt a different tone.

  "Aren't you surprised to see daffodils out so early?" says Mrs. Atherleywith pride.

  "There are lots out in London," I mention casually. "In the shops."

  "So there are grapes," says Miss Atherley.

  "I was not talking about grapes," I reply stiffly.

  However, at Creek Cottage just now I can afford to be natural; for it isnot gardening which comes under discussion these days, butlandscape-gardening, and any one can be an authority on that. TheAtherleys, fired by my tales of Sandringham, Chatsworth, Arundel, andother places where I am constantly spending the week-end, arereadjusting their two-acre field. In future it will not be called "thegarden," but "the grounds."

  I was privileged to be shown over the grounds on my last visit to CreekCottage.

  "Here," said Mrs. Atherley, "we are having a plantation. It will keepthe wind off; and we shall often sit here in the early days of summer.That's a weeping ash in the middle. There's another one over there.They'll be lovely, you know."

  "What's that?" I asked, pointing to a bit of black stick on the left;which, even more than the other trees, gave the impression of havingbeen left there by the gardener while he went for his lunch.

  "That's a weeping willow."

  "This is rather a tearful corner of the grounds," apologized MissAtherley. "We'll show you something brighter directly. Lookthere--that's the oak in which King Charles lay hid. At least, it willbe when it's grown a bit."

  "Let's go on to the shrubbery," said Mrs. Atherley. "We are having a newgrass path from here to the shrubbery. It's going to be called Henry'sWalk."

  Miss Atherley has a small brother called Henry. Also there were eightKings of England called Henry. Many a time and oft one of those nineHenrys has paced up and down this grassy walk, his head bent, his handsclasped behind his back; while behind his furrowed brow, who shall saywhat world-schemes were hatching? Is it the thought of Wolsey whichmakes him frown--or is he wondering where he left his catapult? Ah! whocan tell us? Let us leave a veil of mystery over it ... for the sake ofthe next visitor.

  "The shrubbery," said Mrs. Atherley proudly, waving her hand at a coupleof laurel bushes and a--I've forgotten its name now, but it is one ofthe few shrubs I really know.

  "And if you're a gentleman," said Miss Atherley, "and want to get askedhere again, you'll always _call_ it the shrubbery."

  "Really, I don't see what else you could call it," I said, wishing to beasked down again.

  "The patch."

  "True," I said. "I mean, Nonsense."

  I was rather late for breakfast next morning; a pity on such a lovelyspring day.

  "I'm so sorry," I began, "but I was looking at the shrubbery from mywindow and I quite forgot the time."

  "Good," said Miss Atherley.

  "I must thank you for putting me in such a perfect room for it," I went on,warming to my subject. "One can actually see the shrubs--er--shrubbing. Theplantation, too, seems a little thicker to me than yesterday."

  "I expect it is."

  "In fact, the tennis lawn----" I looked round anxiously. I had a suddenfear that it might be the new deer-park. "It still is the tennis lawn?"I asked.

  "Yes. Why, what about it?"

  "I was only going to say the tennis lawn had quite a lot of shadows onit. Oh, there's no doubt that the plantation is really assertingitself."

  Eleven o'clock found me strolling in the grounds with Miss Atherley.

  "You know," I said, as we paced Henry's Walk together, "the one thingthe plantation wants is for a bird to nest in it. That is the hall-markof a plantation."

  "It's mother's birthday to-morrow. Wouldn't it be a lovely surprise forher?"

  "It would, indeed. Unfortunately this is a matter in which you requirethe co-operation of a feathered friend."

  "Couldn't you try to persuade a bird to build a nest in the weeping ash?Just for this once?"

  "You're asking me a very difficult thing," I said doubtfully. "Anythingelse I would do cheerfully for you; but to dictate to a bird on such avery domestic affair---- No, I'm afraid I must refuse."

  "It need only just _begin_ to build one," pleaded Miss Atherley,"because mother's going up to town by your train to-morrow. As soon asshe's out of the house the bird can go back anywhere else it likesbetter."

  "I will put that to any bird I see to-day," I said, "but I am doubtful."

  "Oh, well," sighed Miss Atherley, "never mind."

  . . . . .

  "What do you think?" cried Mrs. Atherley as she came in to breakfastnext day. "There's a bird been nesting in the plantation!"

  Miss Atherley looked at me in undisguised admiration. I looked quitesurprised--I know I did.

  "Well, well!" I said.

  "You must come out afterwards and see the nest and tell me what bird itis. There are three eggs in it. I am afraid I don't know much aboutthese things."

  "I'm glad," I said thankfully. "I mean, I shall be glad to."

  We went out eagerly after breakfast. On about the only tree in theplantation with a fork to it a nest balanced precariously. It had in itthree pale-blue eggs splotched with light brown. It appeared to be ablackbird's nest with another egg or two to come.

  "It's been very quick about it," said Miss Atherley.

  "Of our feathered bipeds," I said, frowning at her, "the blackbird isnotoriously the most hasty."

  "Isn't it lovely?" said Mrs. Atherley.

  She was still talking about it as she climbed into the trap which was totake us to the station.

  "One moment," I said, "I've forgotten something." I dashed into thehouse and out by a side door, and then sprinted for the plantation. Itook the nest from the weeping and over-weighted ash and put itcarefully back in the hedge by the tennis-lawn. Then I returned moreleisurely to the house.

  If you ever want a job of landscape-gardening thoroughly well done, youcan always rely upon me.