But--six-and-twenty years, and not one child in the place save herself, who had come over from America! Yet Mr.Battershall was right; it _seemed_ excellent parsley.
"You don't find that anything comes and--and takes away--" she hazarded, but came to a full stop.
"There's slugs," answered Mr.Battershall stolidly, "and there's snails.

Terrible full o' snails the old wall was till I got the Master to repoint it." "Would snails--" "Eh ?" he asked as she hesitated.
"They might take away the--the flowers, for instance." Old Battershall guffawed.
"You wasn' sarchin' for flowers, was you?
Dang me, but that's a good 'un!.

.

.

I don't raise my own seed, missie, if that's your meanin'; an' that bein' so, he'd have to get up early as would find a flower in my parsley." Ah, this might explain it! As she eyed him, her childish mind searching the mystery, yet keeping its own secret, Corona resolved to steal down to the garden one of these fine mornings very early indeed.
"Now I'll tell you something about parsley," said Mr.Battershall; "something very curious, and yet it must be true, for I heard the Master tell it in one of his sermons.