CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.
THE GARDENER SURGEON.
"People sneer at gardening and gardeners, Grant," said the old gentleman to me one day.

"Perhaps you may take to some other occupation when you grow older; but don't you never be ashamed of having learned to be a gardener." "I'm sure I never shall," I said.
"I hope you will not, my boy, for there's something in gardening and watching the growth of trees and plants that's good for a lad's nature; and if I was a schoolmaster I'd let every boy have a garden, and make him keep it neat.

It would be as good a lesson as any he could teach." "I like gardening more and more, sir," I said.
"That's right, my boy.

I hope you do, but you've a deal to learn yet.
Gardening's like learning to play the fiddle; there's always something more to get hold of than you know.

I wish I had some more glass." "I wish you had, sir," I said.
"Why, boy ?--why ?" he cried sharply.
"Because you seem as if you'd like it, sir," I said, feeling rather abashed by his sharp manner.
"Yes, but it was so that I should be able to teach you, sir.