And he kept a roll of the plants that he possessed, and the list grew longer with every Autumn and every Spring; so that the garden of the monastery became filled with rare and curious things, in which Brother Benedict took great pride.
The day came when he thought that he took too much pride.

For he said, "The cares of the garden are, after all, cares of this world, and I have set my affections upon things of the earth." And at last, it so troubled him that he obtained leave to make a pilgrimage to the cell of an old hermit, whose wisdom was much esteemed, and to him he told his fears.
But when Brother Benedict had ended his tale, the old man said, "Go in peace.

What a man labours for he must love, if he be made in the image of his Maker; for He rejoices in the works of His hands." So Brother Benedict returned, and his conscience was at ease till the Autumn, when a certain abbot, who spent much care and pains upon his garden, was on a journey, and rested at the Monastery of the Green Valley.

And it appeared that he had more things in his garden than Brother Benedict, for the abbey was very rich, and he had collected far and near.

And Brother Benedict was jealous for the garden of the monastery, and then he was wroth with himself for his jealousy; and when the abbot had gone he obtained leave, and made a pilgrimage to the cell of the hermit and told him all.