The house was a good-sized one, and he examined every corner, but in vain. Then he raised his lantern and looked behind a tier of shelves which stood out a little way from the wall.

A dark figure was there crouching down. It was George Bentham, who, with a face white as ashes, came forth at Mr Naylor's command.

"What are you doing here, sir?" he asked, in a voice of thunder.

"I got locked in, sir."

"And what brought you here at all?"

The ready lie that he would fain have had rise to his lips, failed him from actual terror, and he was silent.

"I will tell you why you are here," said the gardener. "You came to open that window in order to get an innocent companion into trouble, and to have it supposed that he was careless and had neglected his duty, and it is the second time you have done the base deed. You are a coward of the worst kind, and you shall come with me instantly to Sir John himself, and hear his opinion of your conduct."

Then George found his voice, and implored Mr Naylor to punish him in any way rather than take him before Sir John, but in vain. He marched him off without another word, and made him walk before him to the house, where he requested to see the baronet.

Very shocked and indignant was Sir John at what he heard about the wretched boy before him, who did not attempt to deny that he had hoped to bring Dick into disgrace, and so had slipped into the greenhouse to open the window, but had not time to escape before Mr Naylor came and locked him in. He had no way of getting out without breaking the windows, owing to their peculiar method of opening. He acknowledged that Dick had never done him any harm, and could only say in reply to the questions put to him, that "he had never liked him."

Sir John dismissed him from his service on the spot, and told him his opinion of his conduct in terms which remained in his memory for many a day.

Dick was very glad when Mr Naylor told him the mystery about the open window had been cleared up; but to his credit be it spoken, he was really grieved to hear that George was to work no more in the gardens. He longed to plead for him, but knew it would be useless, as Sir John and Mr Naylor were so seriously displeased. But when a little time had passed by, and George was still without regular employment, hanging about the village, often reminded by jeers and taunts of his mean conduct, Dick felt more and more sorry for him, and at length he ventured to ask Mr Naylor if he would say a good word for him to Sir John.

"And so you want him to be taken on again, do you?" was the reply. "That's queer, now."

But queer as he thought it, Naylor could appreciate Dick's forgiving spirit, and admired it sufficiently to induce him to ask Sir John if the boy might have another trial, and he obtained his consent. He took care to tell George who it was had pleaded for his return. The boy had avoided Dick since his disgrace, but this generous conduct quite overcame him. Though foreign to his own nature to act thus, he was touched and grateful, and actually thanked Dick, and told him he was sorry he had behaved so shabbily to him. From that day the two lads were good friends. George never again annoyed Dick.

We must pass over the next few years of Dick's history more rapidly. He did not disappoint the expectations of those who had done so much for him. He improved rapidly, and developed so strong a taste for landscape gardening that Sir John and Mr Naylor advised him to lay himself out chiefly for that branch of the profession, and every aid was given him to do so. Sir John thought that his steady character, united to considerable natural talent, well deserved encouragement. The result was, that when he grew to manhood he introduced him to the notice of several families of distinction, and he soon began to get a name and to acquire a considerable income. Walters lived to see him married and prosperous, and ever true to the principles he had instilled into him as a child.

At a good old age dear old John Walters passed away to his rest. His death was calm and happy as his life had been. His remains lie in the little churchyard at Denham, a plain white stone marking the spot. Many still remember and speak of him with affection. Amongst the number is Sir John, now himself grown old. Sometimes he has been heard to exclaim, as he pauses an instant before the grave—