Slowly, as was their wont, they crossed among the constellations of buttercups and daisies, and entered the fernery. This feature, where very little grew as yet, had been judiciously dropped below the level of the lawn so that it might come up again on the level of the other lawn and give the impression of irregularity, so important in horticulture. Its rocks and earth were beloved of the dog Balthasar, who sometimes found a mole there. Old Jolyon made a point of passing through it because, though it was not beautiful, he intended that it should be, some day, and he would think: “I must get Varr to come down and look at it; he’s better than Beech.” For plants, like houses and human complaints, required the best expert consideration. It was inhabited by snails, and if accompanied by his grandchildren, he would point to one and tell them the story of the little boy who said: “Have plummers got leggers, Mother?” “No, sonny.” “Then darned if I haven’t been and swallowed a snileybob.” And when they skipped and clutched his hand, thinking of the snileybob going down the little boy’s “red lane,” his eyes would twinkle.