Harry got a lot of things for our Paradise in this way; indeed, he would not have got much otherwise, except wild flowers; and, as he said, "How can I be your Honest Root-gatherer if I mayn't gather anything up by the roots ?" I can't help laughing sometimes to think of the morning when he left off being our Honest Root-gatherer.

He did look so funny, and so like Chris.
A day or two before, the Scotch Gardener had brought Saxon to see us, and a new kind of mouldiness that had got into his grape vines to show to John.
He was very cross with Saxon for walking on my garden.

(And I am sure I quite forgave him, for I am so fond of him, and he knew no better, poor dear!) But, though he kicked Saxon, the Scotch Gardener was kind to us.

He told us that the reason our gardens do not do so well as the big garden, and that my _Jules Margottin_ has not such big roses as John's _Jules Margottin_ is because we have never renewed the soil.
Arthur and Harry got very much excited about this.

They made the Scotch Gardener tell them what good soil ought to be made of, and all the rest of the day they talked of nothing but _compost_.