The Reverend John, meanwhile, strolled down one of the many winding garden paths, past clusters of daffodils, narcissi and primroses, into a favourite corner which he called the 'Wilderness,' because it was left by his orders in a more or less untrimmed, untrained condition of luxuriantly natural growth. Here the syringa, a name sometimes given by horticultural pedants to the lilac, for no reason at all except to create confusion in the innocent minds of amateur growers, was opening its white 'mock orange' blossoms, and a mass of flowering aconites spread out before him like a carpet of woven gold. Here, too, tufts of bluebells peeked forth from behind the moss-grown stems of several ancient oaks and elms, and purple pansies bordered the edge of the grass. A fine old wistaria grown in tree-form, formed a natural arch of entry to this shady retreat, and its flowers were just now in their full beauty, hanging in a magnificent profusion of pale mauve, grapelike bunches from the leafless stems. Many roses, of the climbing or 'rambling' kind, were planted here, and John Walden's quick eye soon perceived where a long green shoot of one of those was loose and waving in the wind to its own possible detriment. He felt in his pockets for a bit of roffia or twine to tie up the straying stem,--he was very seldom without something of the kind for such emergencies, but this time he only groped among the fragments of Sir Morton Pippitt's note and found nothing useful. Stepping out on the path again, he looked about him and caught a glimpse of a stooping, bulky form in weather- beaten garments, planting something in one of the borders at a little distance.
"Bainton!" he called.
The figure slowly raised itself, and as slowly turned its head.
"Sir!"
"Just come here and tie this rose up, will you?"
The individual addressed approached at a very deliberate pace, dragging out some entangled roffia from his pocket as he came and severing it into lengths with his teeth. Walden partly prepared his task for him by holding up the rose branch in the way it should go, and on his arrival assisted him in the business of securing it to the knotty bough from which it had fallen.
"That looks better!" he remarked approvingly, as he stepped back and surveyed it. "You might do this one at the same time while you are about it, Bainton."
And he pointed to a network of 'Crimson rambler' rose-stems which had blown loose from their moorings and were lying across the grass.