The new earth that's just underneath. I expect
John got a lot when he turfed that new piece by the pond, but I don't
believe he'd spare us a flower-pot full to save his life."
"Don't quarrel with John, Arthur. It's no good."
"I won't quarrel with him if he behaves himself," said Arthur, "but we
mean to have some top-spit somehow."
"If you aggravate him he'll only complain of us to Father."
"I know," said Arthur hotly, "and beastly mean of him, too, when he
knows what Father is about this sort of thing."
"I know it's mean. But what's the good of fighting when you'll only
get the worst of it?"
"Why to show that you're in the right, and that you know you are,"
said Arthur. "Good-night, Mary. We'll have a compost heap of our own
this autumn, mark my words."
Next day, in spite of my remonstrances, Arthur and Harry came to open
war with John, and loudly and long did they rehearse their grievances,
when we were out of Father's hearing.
"Have we ever swept our own walks, except that once, long ago, when
the German women came round with threepenny brooms?" asked Arthur,
throwing out his right arm, as if he were making a speech. "And think
of all the years John has been getting leaf mould for himself out of
our copper beech leaves, and now refuses us a barrow-load of loam!"
The next morning but one Harry was late for breakfast, and then it
seemed that he was not dressing he had gone out,--very early, one of
the servants said.
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