Catch John showing me the duck's nest by the pond, or letting you into the cow-house to kiss the new calf between the eyes--if he were farm man instead of gardener!" And the night Arthur sat in my room, talking about compost, he said, "I shall get some good stuff out of Michael, I know; and Harry and I see our way to road-scrapings if we can't get sand; and we mean to take precious good care John doesn't have all the old leaves to himself.

It's the top-spit that puzzles us, and loam is the most important thing of all." "What is top-spit ?" I asked.
"It's the earth you get when you dig up squares of grass out of a field like the paddock.

The new earth that's just underneath.

I expect John got a lot when he turfed that new piece by the pond, but I don't believe he'd spare us a flower-pot full to save his life." "Don't quarrel with John, Arthur.

It's no good." "I won't quarrel with him if he behaves himself," said Arthur, "but we mean to have some top-spit somehow." "If you aggravate him he'll only complain of us to Father." "I know," said Arthur hotly, "and beastly mean of him, too, when he knows what Father is about this sort of thing." "I know it's mean.