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Stevenson, Robert Louis, 1850-1894

"Memoir of Fleeming Jenkin"

And meanwhile the time of waiting, which, please
Heaven, shall not be long, shall also not be so bitter. Well,
well, I promise much, and do not know at this moment how you and
the dear child are. If he is but better, courage, my girl, for I
see light.'
This cottage at Claygate stood just without the village, well
surrounded with trees and commanding a pleasant view. A piece of
the garden was turfed over to form a croquet green, and Fleeming
became (I need scarce say) a very ardent player. He grew ardent,
too, in gardening. This he took up at first to please his wife,
having no natural inclination; but he had no sooner set his hand to
it, than, like everything else he touched, it became with him a
passion. He budded roses, he potted cuttings in the coach-house;
if there came a change of weather at night, he would rise out of
bed to protect his favourites; when he was thrown with a dull
companion, it was enough for him to discover in the man a fellow
gardener; on his travels, he would go out of his way to visit
nurseries and gather hints; and to the end of his life, after other
occupations prevented him putting his own hand to the spade, he
drew up a yearly programme for his gardener, in which all details
were regulated.


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