16

THE CONFLICT.

The two wreaths kept us working late last night.

The order had taken us by surprise in mid-morning with no
spare time to be seen in the crowded hours ahead.

We were in the thick of gathering and weighing-up; there
was the "van" to pack for the afternoon's journey to "town", and
it was the last day for carting the leaf-mould we had bought-up
down at Horse-eye. Nearly all the emergency orders go to Surtees.
He has more glass than we, and being within a mile of "town" he
can always get plenty of white blossom when the houses run short.
He has a character, too, for executing his orders by the clock.
He can afford to employ good labour, and he pays his men well. His
gardens lie, with never a weed nor a patch of waste, for half a
mile in full view along the main road. At the same time, we have
never disappointed anyone either for a wedding or a funeral.

We sat up wiring and gumming and setting last night between
the lamp and the wood fire until nearly ten o'clock. Then the com-
pleted wreaths were taken into the parlour and laid out on the sofa,
and we had an hour of freedom round the log fire with our porridge
bowls and the morning paper. The extra hour in the close room made
the dark freshness standing in the upper chambers more welcome than
usual. I left my blind up and drew back my curtains. Forawhile
the fatigue of the hours kept me at the mercy of random thoughts.
I could not loosen my hold upon the day. I thought of the finished

2

wreaths, of their morning journey down to the village; of to-
morrow's work with the three waggon-loads of leaf; of the next
big job, the chrysanthemum housing not much more than a week
ahead; of George waiting downstairs for the home-coming van.
Gradually the night gained, and presently I could feel all round
me the sleeping fields; for hours the countryside had slept under
the dark sky. Now, into the midnight stillness was pouring a
faint moonlight, showing me the shape of the leaves lingering
round my window, pouring and pouring so steadily it seemed every
moment as if the waiting night must make some sign. Now and
again a leaf fell with a sharp smack on to the gravelled pathway.
I lay in glad forgetfulness of all save the deeps of chill,
sweet air holding a vision of pale fields and plumy poplars
standing in the flood of faint moonlight.

When at last the rumble of the van wheels came from the
head of the lane it brought no disturbance. Had not horse and
driver been going for two hours and more easily forward through
that same still night? They had left far away beyond the marshes
the quiet bustle of town and their day's work, and had come deeper
and deeper into the countryside. The rattle of the empty van,
empty except for the week's groceries and perhaps a basket of
beach-bought fish, lessened as it drew up the hill. Confidence
neighed from the stable, and George's footstep crunched upon the
gravel under my window. Half-dreaming, I heard the movement of

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the two about the stable yard, the stamping of cold feet, the
creak of the kitchen door, George's step upon the stairs. Why
had he kept his boots on? Why was he tapping at my neighbour's
door? And at mine?

"Yes?"

"Ah, you're awake."

"What is it?"

"Well, I just came to see if you was awake - I wouldn't
have disturbed you else", comes the low voice near the cracked
panel.

"Yes?"

"Well, there's nearly ten degrees - me and George just
been down."

"Oh!"

"It's just we're thinking we must put something over the
cryzants."

For a moment I regretted my wakefulness, but it was good
later to come down through the night and find the awakened group
trimming the garden lanterns in the kitchen as they listened to
the wanderer's tale of the sudden drop.

Good was the work with sacking and blankets, with news-
papers and old coats, in the cold half-gloom of the garden.
Good as we sat, two hours later, fresh and clear-eyed, round the
revived fire, drinking steaming mugs of milk coffee, and eating

4

the whole of Sunday's cake, to feel that the cryzants, our cry-
zants, were safe for the winter market.

What had Surtees done with his five visible acres of little
grey plants and his men, all hired, living dear knows where round
about? Perhaps he'd housed already? Not he - not this early.
Besides, no one had dreamed of frost, and the drop had not begun
till gone eight.

We heard the next day as we worked rather wearily at the
housing of our precious plants. George had been past their way,

"There isn't," he said, "not above twenty of his plants
ain't caught."

"H'm. They've saved goin' on about as many as what we've
lost."