But what was even more bitter to me than all this ruin and desolation was
the thought of the glorious deeds I might have been doing if the garden had
been all right. Phrases from the book kept flashing to my eye.

"Thoroughly scrub the base and sides of the pots, and see that the
drainage-holes are not sealed with soil." How it thrilled the blood!

"Damp the floors and staging every morning and afternoon, and see that the
compost is kept uniformly moist." What a fascinating pursuit!

"Feed the plants once a week with liquid manure." It went like a clarion
call to the heart.

And here I was condemned to _ennui_ and indolence when I might have been
sitting up all night dosing the _Zonal Pelargoniums_ with hot beef-tea and
taking the temperature of the _Campanula pyramidalis_. Even with the
ruddy-faced fruits there would have been plenty to do.

"Wooden trays with open lath bottoms made to slide into a framework afford
the best means of storing apples and pears. The ripening of pears may be
accelerated by enclosing them in bran or dry clean sand in a closed tin
box." It did not say how often one was to clean out the cage, nor whether
you put groundsel between the bars.

I told the man next door of my sorrows.

"Well, there 's plenty to do," he said. "Get a spade and dig the garden all
over."