"
"Kneel, brother," said the Abbot, "kneel instantly, and thank her
Grace's kindness,"
"Good brother, that wert once a few steps under me, and art still many
years younger," replied the gardener, pettishly, "let me do mine
acknowledgments in my own way. Queens have knelt to me ere now, and in
truth my knees are too old and stiff to bend even to this lovely-faced
lady. May it please your Grace, if your Grace's servants have occupied
my house, so that I could not call it mine own--if they have trodden
down my flowers in the zeal of their midnight comings and goings, and
destroyed the hope of the fruit season, by bringing their war-horses
into my garden, I do but crave of your Grace in requital, that you
will choose your residence as far from me as possible. I am an old man
who would willingly creep to my grave as easily as I can, in peace,
good-will, and quiet labour."
"I promise you fairly, good man," said the Queen, "I will not make
yonder castle my residence again, if I can help it. But let me press
on you this money--it will make some amends for the havoc we have made
in your little garden and orchard."
"I thank your Grace, but it will make me not the least amends," said
the old man. "The ruined labours of a whole year are not so easily
replaced to him who has perchance but that one year to live; and
besides, they tell me I must leave this place and become a wanderer in
mine old age--I that have nothing on earth saving these fruit-trees,
and a few old parchments and family secrets not worth knowing.
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