We wish you'd get rid of what you've got here, sir, he observed, digging doggedly. Nothing'll grow right with them here. Shrubs! said the Squire, laughing. You don't call the peacock trees shrubs, do you? Fine tall trees -- you ought to be proud of them. Ill weeds grow apace, observed the gardener. Weeds can grow as houses when somebody plants them. Then he added: Him that sowed tares in the Bible, Squire. Oh, blast your -- began the Squire, and then replaced the more apt and alliterative word Bible by the general word superstition. He was himself a robust rationalist, but he went to church to set his tenants an example. Of what, it would have puzzled him to say.