"Ah, well!" the Gardener said with a kind of groan. "Things change so,
here. Whenever I look again, it's sure to be something different!
Yet I does my duty! I gets up wriggle-early at five--"
"If I was oo," said Bruno, "I wouldn't wriggle so early. It's as bad as
being a worm!" he added, in an undertone to Sylvie.
"But you shouldn't be lazy in the morning, Bruno," said Sylvie.
"Remember, it's the early bird that picks up the worm!"
"It may, if it likes!" Bruno said with a slight yawn. "I don't like
eating worms, one bit. I always stop in bed till the early bird has
picked them up!"
"I wonder you've the face to tell me such fibs!" cried the Gardener.
To which Bruno wisely replied "Oo don't want a face to tell fibs
wiz--only a mouf."
Sylvie discreetly changed the subject. "And did you plant all these
flowers?" she said.
"What a lovely garden you've made! Do you know, I'd like to live here
always!"
"In the winter-nights--" the Gardener was beginning.
"But I'd nearly forgotten what we came about!" Sylvie interrupted.
"Would you please let us through into the road? There's a poor old
beggar just gone out--and he's very hungry--and Bruno wants to give
him his cake, you know!"
"It's as much as my place is worth!', the Gardener muttered, taking a
key from his pocket, and beginning to unlock a door in the garden-wall.
"How much are it wurf? "Bruno innocently enquired.
But the Gardener only grinned.
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