"Glad to see you here.

I want you to take a bit more hinterest in my garden.

See they taters: ain't they getting on?
Look at my peas and beans too.

I calls they a sight, I do.
Make some o' they gardeners in Old England skretch their wigs and wish they could grow things like 'em." "Beautiful, Sam; but--" "There's cauliflowers too, sir: ain't they splendid ?" "Couldn't be better, Sam; but--" "Try my peas, sir." _Pop_! "There's a pod.

Dozen fine uns, just as if they was a row o' green teeth laughing at you." "Deliciously tender, Sam; but--" "It's the sun, Master Nic; it's the sun," said the old man, who was too much wrapped up in his subject to heed the boy's remarks.