“He has opened our eyes to a magnificent flower that we had not paid any attention to. He has shown us beauty where we did not think to seek it. As long as the artichokes are blooming, the royal gardener will bring one to my parlor every day.” And that’s what happened.

So then the master and mistress told the gardener that he could bring them a fresh artichoke flower again. “It is pretty after all,” they said, “quite remarkable!” And the gardener was praised. “Larsen likes that,” they said. “He’s a spoiled child!”

In the autumn there was a terrible storm. It started at night, and became so powerful that many big trees at the edge of the forest were torn up by the roots, much to the distress of the master and mistress. A great distress for them, but to the joy of the gardener, the two big trees with all the bird nests blew over. You could hear rooks and crows screaming at the height of the storm. People at the manor said that they flapped their wings against the windows.

“Well, now you’re happy, Larsen,” said the master and mistress. “The storm has knocked down the trees, and the birds have fled to the forest. Now nothing’s left from the old days here. Every sign and every allusion are gone! It’s very sad for us.”

The gardener didn’t say anything, but he thought about what he had long thought about—how to utilize the splendid sunny spot he didn’t have access to before. It would become the ornament of the garden, and the joy of his master and mistress.

The big fallen trees had crushed and completely destroyed the ancient box hedges, with their topiary. Here the gardener planted a thicket of growth—native plants from the meadows and forest. He planted with rich abundance what no other gardeners had thought belonged in a gentry’s garden, into the type of soil the plants needed and with the amount of shade and sun required by each type. He took care of them with love, and they grew splendidly.

The juniper bushes from the heaths of Jutland grew in form and color like the cypress of Italy. The shiny prickly holly, evergreen in winter cold or summer sun, was a delight to see. In front of them grew ferns of many different kinds. Some looked like they were children of the palm tree, and others as if they were parents of the delicate lovely vegetation we call maiden-hair. Here too was the despised burdock that is so lovely in its freshness that it can appear in bouquets. The dock stood on high ground, but lower, where it was damper, grew the common dock, also a despised plant, but with its height and huge leaves still so artistically lovely. Transplanted from the meadow grew the waist-high mullein like a magnificent many-armed candelabra with flower next to flower. There were woodruff, primroses, and forest lily of the valley, the white Calla, and the delicate three-leafed wood sorrel. It was beautiful to see.

In the front small pear trees from France grew in rows tied to wire cord. They received sun and good care and soon produced big, juicy fruit as in the land they came from.

Instead of the old leafless trees, a tall flagpole was installed, where the Danish flag flew and close to that another pole where in the summer and autumn the hop vines twisted with their fragrant cones of flowers, but where in winter an oat sheaf was hung, according to an old custom, so that the birds of the sky should have food in the merry time of Christmas.

“Larsen is getting sentimental in his old age,” said the master and mistress, “but he is loyal and attached to us.”

At the New Year there was a picture of the old estate in one of the capital’s illustrated magazines. You could see the flagpole and the oat-sheaf for the birds at Christmas time, and it was stressed what a good idea it was that an old custom was upheld and honored. So appropriate for the old estate!

“Everything that that Larsen does,” said the master and mistress, “is heralded by drums! He’s a lucky man! We almost have to be proud that we have him!”

But they were not at all proud of that. They felt that they were the master and mistress, and they could let Larsen go anytime, but they didn’t do that. They were good people, and there are many good people of their type, and that’s good for many a Larsen.

Well, that’s the story of the gardener and the gentry, and now you can think about it.

NOTE

 

1.