Had there been, I
should not have gone to the expense of having pipes laid down to feed
the pond."
"Oh, Father, how can you be so silly," Gladys cried, "of course there
isn't any water here. It's only a trick, a trick to frighten you--and
I'm beginning to think it has succeeded."
"I shall try here anyway to-morrow," John Martin said grimly. "Let us
go in now."
When Gladys went into the garden on the following morning she beheld
an extraordinary sight. Her father, the gardener, and a man whom she
did not recognize at first, as his back was turned towards her, but
who, to her utter astonishment, proved to be Shiel Davenport, were
hard at work, digging a pit.
Her father paused every now and then, and rested; but he did not allow
the others a moment's respite. Every time they were about to slack, he
urged them on. It was all very well for the gardener who was
accustomed to it, but it was obviously killing work for Shiel
Davenport, and Gladys--as soon as she had overcome a preliminary
outburst of laughter--gave vent to her sympathies.
"What a shame," she exclaimed, "Father how can you? Poor Mr. Davenport
looks ready to drop. Take a rest, Mr. Davenport! Do--you have my
permission."
Looking very hot and exhausted, Shiel Davenport threw down his spade
and attempted to make himself presentable.
"His clothes will be ruined, Father," Gladys said, indignantly.
"They're not his clothes--he's wearing an old suit of mine," John
Martin explained, trying to appear unconcerned.
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