CHAPTER FIFTEEN
THE GARDEN
"What art thou doing Cookie?" the Master inquired.
The Defoe's cook jerked up suddenly with a hoe in her hands.
"Ah, Milord," she gasped and held her chest, "Yea gave me such a fright!"
Defoe nodded with a little smile, knowing it didn't take much to put the fright into cook.
He stood with his hands in his pockets surveying the tiny little back plot of land behind their rented house. The cook had, with great industry, replanted the little back garden and numerous green things were sprouting up in this cool spring weather.
"Well, we have yer onions here and garlic there," Defoe nodded, "and a bit of spinach over here and my favorite, runner beans," she beamed at her master proudly.
Defoe bent over and could see the little bean buds coming out.
"Ah," he commented sagely.
"And these be yon flowers for just prettiness," she finished with a gush.
"Very good Cookie, very good," replied Defoe. "Carry on then." The cook curtsied and he turned to go.
"Oh, one last thing," he turned to her, "when we have to beans, maybe they not be cooked quite so much this time?" he asked hopefully.
The cook stared at him blankly, "That's the way we always be doing it sir," she said stoutly.
"Ah yes," he sighed, "of course." He turned and went back into the house, only shaking his head when he was all the way inside.