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Title: Brownsmith's Boy
       A Romance in a Garden

Author: George Manville Fenn

Release Date: May 4, 2007 [EBook #21293]

Language: English

Character set encoding: ASCII

*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BROWNSMITH'S BOY ***




Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England




Brownsmith's Boy, a Romance in a Garden, by George Manville Fenn.

_______________________________________________________________________

This is an absolutely delightful book, which has most of its early
action in a market garden, and then more in another one.  The author is
a great naturalist, and he has much to teach us about the way in which
work should be done to raise fruit and vegetables to be taken to London
daily for the market.  Somehow that sounds boring but there is so much
action entwined with these facts that they are made far from boring.

The action takes place about 1835. The hero lives with his mother in a
house overlooking the garden. When she dies he is taken in by Old
Brownsmith to be taught the skills of a market gardener.  Another boy,
Shock, hangs about the garden, sleeping rough and living on a primitive
diet of snails, hedgehogs and rabbits and whatever he can get.  There is
an uneasy relationship between the boys, with Shock constantly doing
unkind and strange things, and our hero, Grant Dennison, longing to get
to know him better.

I particularly loved the episode where an old worker, Ike, takes the
even older horse, Basket, for his regular overnight trip to the London
fruit and vegetable market, taking Grant with him.

There are plenty of the usual Manville Fenn episodes of terror and
near-disaster, and indeed it is a lovely book. Do read it.
NH
________________________________________________________________________

BROWNSMITH'S BOY, A ROMANCE IN A GARDEN, BY GEORGE MANVILLE FENN.



CHAPTER ONE.

THE BOY IN THE GARDEN.

I always felt as if I should like to punch that boy's head, and then
directly after I used to feel as if I shouldn't care to touch him,
because he looked so dirty and ragged.

It was not dirty dirt, if you know what I mean by that, but dirt that he
gathered up in his work--bits of hay and straw, and dust off a shed
floor; mud over his boots and on his toes, for you could see that the
big boots he wore seemed to be like a kind of coarse rough shell with a
great open mouth in front, and his toes used to seem as if they lived in
there as hermit-crabs do in whelk shells.  They used to play about in
there and waggle this side and that side when he was standing still
looking at you; and I used to think that some day they would come a
little way out and wait for prey like the different molluscs I had read
about in my books.

But you should have seen his hands!  I've seen them so coated with dirt
that it hung on them in knobs, and at such times he used to hold them up
to me with the thumbs and fingers spread out wide, and then down he
would go again and continue his work, which, when he was in this state,
would be pulling up the weeds from among the onions in the long beds.

I didn't want him to do it, but he used to see me at the window looking
out; and I being one lonely boy in the big pond of life, and he being
another lonely boy in the same big pond, and both floating about like
bits of stick, he seemed as if he wanted to gravitate towards me as bits
of stick do to each other, and in his uncouth way he would do all sorts
of things to attract my attention.

Sometimes it seemed as if it was to frighten me, at others to show how
clever he was; but of course I know now that it was all out of the
superabundant energy he had in him, and the natural longing of a boy for
a companion.

I'll just tell you what he'd do.  After showing me his muddy fingers,
and crawling along and digging them as hard as he could into the soil to
tear out the weeds, all at once he would kick his heels up in the air
like a donkey.  Then he would go on weeding again, look to see if I was
watching him, and leave his basket and run down between two onion beds
on all-fours like a dog, run back, and go on with his work.

Every now and then he would pull up a young onion with the weeds and
pick it out, give it a rub on his sleeve, put one end in his mouth, and
eat it gradually, taking it in as I've seen a cow with a long strand of
rye or grass.

Another time he would fall to punching the ground with his doubled fist,
make a basin-like depression, put his head in, support himself by
setting his hands on each side of the depression, and then, as easily as
could be, throw up his heels and stand upon his head.

It seemed to be no trouble to him to keep his balance, and when up like
that he would twist his legs about, open them wide, put them forwards
and backwards, and end by insulting me with his feet, so it seemed to
me, for he would spar at me with them and make believe to hit out.

All at once he would see one of the labourers in the distance, and then
down he would go and continue his weeding.

Perhaps, when no one was looking, he would start up, look round, go down
again on all-fours, and canter up to a pear-tree, raise himself up, and
begin scratching the bark like one of the cats sharpening its claws; or
perhaps trot to an apple-tree, climb up with wonderful activity, creep
out along a horizontal branch, and pretend to fall, but save himself by
catching with and hanging by one hand.

That done he would make a snatch with his other hand, swing about for a
few moments, and then up would go his legs to be crossed over the
branch, when he would swing to and fro head downwards, making derisive
gestures at me with his hands.

So it was that I used to hate that boy, and think he was little better
than a monkey; but somehow I felt envious of him too when the sun
shone--I didn't so much mind when it was wet--for he seemed so free and
independent, and he was so active and clever, while whenever I tried to
stand on my head on the carpet I always tipped right over and hurt my
back.

That was a wonderful place, that garden, and I used to gaze over the
high wall with its bristle of young shoots of plum-trees growing over
the coping, and see the chaffinches building in the spring-time among
the green leaves and milky-white blossoms of the pear-trees; or,
perhaps, it would be in a handy fork of an apple-tree, with the crimson
and pink blossoms all around.

Those trees were planted in straight rows, so that, look which way I
would, I could see straight down an avenue; and under them there were
rows of gooseberry trees or red currants that the men used to cut so
closely in the winter that they seemed to be complete skeletons.

Where there were no gooseberries or currants, the rows of rhubarb plants
used to send up their red stems and great green leaves; and in other
places there would be great patches of wallflowers, from which wafts of
delicious scent would come in at the open window.  In the spring there
would be great rows of red and yellow tulips, and later on sweet-william
and rockets, and purple and yellow pansies in great beds.

I used to wonder that such a boy was allowed to go loose in such a
garden as that, among those flowers and strawberry beds, and, above all,
apples, and pears, and plums, for in the autumn time the trees trained
up against the high red-brick wall were covered with purple and yellow
plums, and the rosy apples peeped from among the green leaves, and the
pears would hang down till it seemed as if the branches must break.

But that boy went about just as he liked, and it often seemed very hard
that such a shaggy-looking wild fellow in rags should have the run of
such a beautiful garden, while I had none.

There was a little single opera-glass on the chimney-piece which I used
to take down and focus, so that I could see the fruit that was ripe, and
the fruit that was green, and the beauty of the flowers.  I used to
watch the birds building through that glass, and could almost see the
eggs in one little mossy cup of a chaffinch's nest; but I could not
quite.  I did see the tips of the young birds' beaks, though, when they
were hatched and the old ones came to feed them.

It was by means of that glass that I could see how the boy fastened up
his trousers with one strap and a piece of string, for he had no braces,
and there were no brace buttons.  Those corduroy trousers had been made
for somebody else, I should say for a man, and pieces of the legs had
been cut off, and the upper part came well over his back and chest.  He
had no waistcoat, but he wore a jacket that must have belonged to a man.
It was a jacket that was fustian behind, and had fustian sleeves, but
the front was of purple plush with red and yellow flowers, softened down
with dirt; and the sleeves of this jacket were tucked up very high,
while the bottom came down to his knees.

He did not wear a hat, but the crown of an old straw bonnet, the top of
which had come unsewed, and rose and fell like the lid of a round box
with one hinge, and when the lid blew open you could see his shaggy
hair, which seemed as if it had never been brushed since it first came
up out of his skin.

The opera-glass was very useful to me, especially as the boy fascinated
me so, for I used to watch him with it till I knew that he had two brass
shank-buttons and three four-holes of bone on his jacket, that there
were no buttons at all on his shirt, and that he had blue eyes, a
snub-nose, and had lost one of his top front teeth.

I must have been quite as great an attraction to him as he was to me,
but he showed it in a very different way.  There would be threatening
movements made with his fists.  After an hour's hard work at weeding,
without paying the slightest heed to my presence, he would suddenly jump
up as if resenting my watching, catch up the basket, and make believe to
hurl it at me.  Perhaps he would pick up a great clod and pretend to
throw that, but let it fall beside him; while one day, when I went to
the window and looked out, I found him with a good-sized switch which
had been the young shoot of a pear tree, and a lump of something of a
yellowish brown tucked in the fork of a tree close by where he worked.

He had a basket by his side and was busily engaged as usual weeding, for
there was a great battle for ever going on in that garden, where the
weeds were always trying to master the flowers and vegetables, and that
boy's duty seemed to be to tear up weeds by the roots, and nothing else.

But there by his side stuck in the ground was the switch, and as soon as
he saw me at the window he gave a look round to see if he was watched,
and then picked up the stick.

"I wonder what he is going to do!"  I thought, as I twisted the glass a
little and had a good look.

He was so near that the glass was not necessary, but I saw through it
that he pinched off a bit of the yellowish-brown stuff, which was
evidently clay, and, after rolling it between his hands, he stuck what
seemed to be a bit as big as a large taw marble on the end of the
switch, gave it a flourish, and the bit of clay flew off.

I could not see where it went, but I saw him watching it, as he quickly
took another piece, kneaded it, and with another flourish away that
flew.

That bit evidently went over our house; and the next time he
tried--_flap_! the piece struck the wall somewhere under the window.

Five times more did he throw, the clay flying swiftly, till all at once
_thud_! came a pellet and stuck on the window pane just above my head.

I looked up at the flattened clay, which was sticking fast, and then at
that boy, who was down on his knees again weeding away as hard as he
could weed, but taking no more notice of me, and I saw the reason: his
master was coming down the garden.



CHAPTER TWO.

OLD BROWNSMITH.

I used to take a good deal of notice of that boy's master as I sat at
the window, and it always seemed to me that he went up and down his
garden because he was so fond of it.

Later on I knew that it was because he was a market-gardener, and was
making his plans as to what was to be cut or picked, or what wanted
doing in the place.

He was a pleasant-looking man, with white hair and whiskers, and a red
face that always used to make me think of apples, and he was always
dressed the same--in black, with a clean white shirt front, and a white
cravat without any starch.  Perhaps it was so that they might not get in
the mud, but at any rate his black trousers were very tight, and his
tail-coat was cut very broad and loose, with cross pockets like a
shooting-jacket, and these pockets used to bulge.

Sometimes they bulged because he had bast matting for tying up plants,
and a knife in one, and a lot of shreds and nails and a hammer in the
other; sometimes it was because he had been picking up fruit, or
vegetable marrows, or new potatoes, whatever was in season.  They always
made me think of the clown's breeches, because he used to put everything
in, and very often a good deal would be sticking out.

I remember once seeing him go down the garden with a good-sized kitten
in each pocket, for there were their heads looking over the sides, and
they seemed to be quite contented, blinking away at the other cats which
were running and skipping about.

For that boy's master, who was called Brownsmith, was a great man for
cats; and whenever he went down his garden there were always six or
eight blacks, and black and whites, and tabbies, and tortoise-shells
running on before or behind him.  When he stopped, first one and then
another would have a rub against his leg, beginning with the point of
its nose, and running itself along right to the end of its tail,
crossing over and having a rub on the other side against the other leg.

So sure as one cat had a rub all the others that could get a chance had
a rub as well.  Then perhaps their master would stoop down with his
knife in his teeth, and take a piece of bast from his pocket, to tie up
a flower or a lettuce, when one of the cats was sure to jump on his
back, and stop there till he rose, when sometimes it would go on and sit
upon his shoulder, more often jump off.

It used to interest me a good deal to watch old Brownsmith and his cats,
for I had never known that a cat would run after any one out of doors
like a dog.  Then, too, they were so full of fun, chasing each other
through the bushes, crouching down with their tails writhing from side
to side, ready to spring out at their master, or dash off again up the
side of a big tree, and look down at him from high upon some branch.

I say all this used to interest me, for I had no companions, and went to
no school, but spent my time with my poor mother, who was very ill; and
I know now how greatly she must have suffered often and often, when,
broken down in health and spirit, suffering from a great sorrow, she
used to devote all her time to teaching me.

Our apartments, as you see, overlooked old Brownsmith's market-garden,
and very often, as I sat there watching it, I used to wish that I could
be as other boys were, running about free in the fields, playing cricket
and football, and learning to swim, instead of being shut up there with
my mother.

Perhaps I was a selfish boy, perhaps I was no worse than others of my
age.  I know I was very fond of my mother, for she was always so sweet,
and gentle, and tender with me, making the most tedious lessons pleasant
by the way she explained them, and helping me when I was worried over
some arithmetical question about how many men would do so much work in
such and such a number of days if so many men would do the same work in
another number of days.

These sums always puzzled me, and do now; perhaps it is because I have
an awkwardly shaped brain.

Sometimes, as we sat over the lessons, I used to see a curious pained
look spread over my mother's face, and the tears would come in her eyes,
but when I kissed her she would smile directly and call my attention to
the beauty of the rime frost on the fruit-trees in Brownsmith's garden;
or, if it was summer, to the sweet scent of the flowers; or to the
ripening fruit in autumn.

Ah, if I had known then, I say to myself, how different I might have
been; how much more patient and helpful to her!  But I did not know, for
I was a very thoughtless boy.

Now it came to pass one day that an idea entered my head as I saw my
mother seated with her pale cheek resting upon her hand, looking out
over old Brownsmith's garden, which was just then at its best.  It was
summer time, and wherever you looked there were flowers--not neat
flower-beds, but great clumps and patches of roses, and sweet-williams
and pinks, and carnations, that made the air thick with their sweet
odours.  Her eyes were half closed, and every now and then I saw her
draw in a long breath, as if she were enjoying the sweet scent.

As I said, I had an idea, and the idea was that I would slip out quietly
and go and spend that sixpence.

Which sixpence?

Why, that sixpence--that red-hot one that tried so hard to burn a hole
through my pocket.

I had had it for two days, and it was still at the bottom along with my
knife, a ball of string, and that piece of india-rubber I had chewed for
hours to make a pop patch.  I had nearly spent it twice--the first time
on one of these large white neatly-sewn balls, with "Best Tennis"
printed upon them in blue; the second time in a pewter squirt.

I had wanted a squirt for a long time, for those things had a great
fascination for me, and I had actually entered the shop door to make my
purchase when something seemed to stop me, and I ran home.

And now I thought I would go and spend that coin.

I slipped quietly to the other window, and had a good look round, but I
could not see that boy, for if I had seen him I don't think I should
have had the heart to go, feeling sure, as I did, that he had a spite
against me.  As I said, though, he was nowhere visible, so I slipped
downstairs, ran along the lane to the big gate, and walked boldly in.

There were several people about, but they took no notice of me--stout
hard-looking women, with coarse aprons tied tightly about their waists
and legs; there were men too, but all were busy in the great sheds,
where they seemed to be packing baskets, quite a mountain of which stood
close at hand.

There were high oblong baskets big enough to hold me, but besides these
there were piles upon piles of round flat baskets of two sizes, and
hanging to the side of one of the sheds great bunches of white wood
strawberry pottles, looking at a distance like some kind of giant
flower, all in elongated buds.

Close by was a cart with its shafts sticking up in the air.  Farther on
a wagon with "Brownsmith" in yellow letters on a great red band; and
this I passed to go up to the house.  But the door was closed, and it
was evident that every one was busy in the garden preparing the night's
load for market.

I stood still for a minute, thinking that I could not be very wrong if I
went down the garden, to see if I could find Mr Brownsmith, and my
heart began to beat fast at the idea of penetrating what was to me a
land of mystery, of which, just then, I held the silver pass-key in the
shape of that sixpence.

"I'll go," I said.  "He can't be very cross;" and, plucking up courage,
but with the feeling upon me that I was trespassing, I went past the
cart, and had gone half-way by the wagon, when there was a creaking,
rattling noise of baskets, and something made a bound.

I started back, feeling sure that some huge dog was coming at me; but
there in the wagon, and kneeling on the edge to gaze down at me with a
fierce grin, was that boy.

I was dreadfully alarmed, and felt as if the next minute he and I would
be having a big fight; but I wouldn't show my fear, and I stared up at
him defiantly with my fists clenching, ready for his first attack.

He did not speak--I did not speak; but we stared at each other for some
moments, before he took a small round turnip out of his pocket and began
to munch it.

"Shock!" cried somebody just then; and the boy turned himself over the
edge of the wagon, dropped on to the ground, and ran towards one of the
sheds, while, greatly relieved, I looked about me, and could see Mr
Brownsmith some distance off, down between two rows of trees that formed
quite an avenue.

It seemed so beautiful after being shut up so much in our sitting-room,
to walk down between clusters of white roses and moss roses, with Anne
Boleyne pinks scenting the air, and far back in the shade bright orange
double wallflowers blowing a little after their time.

I had not gone far when a blackbird flew out of a pear-tree, and I knew
that there must be a nest somewhere close by.  Sure enough I could see
it in a fork, with a curious chirping noise coming from it, as another
blackbird flew out, saw me, and darted back.

I would have given that sixpence for the right to climb that pear-tree,
and I gave vent to a sigh as I saw the figure of old Brownsmith coming
towards me, looking much more stern and sharp than he did at a distance,
and with his side pockets bulging enormously.

"Hallo, young shaver! what's your business?" he said, in a quick
authoritative way, as we drew near to each other.

I turned a little red, for it sounded insulting for a market gardener to
speak to me like that, for I never forgot that my father had been a
captain in an Indian regiment, and was killed fighting in the Sikh war.

I did not answer, but drew myself up a little, before saying rather
consequentially:

"Sixpenn'orth of flowers and strawberries--good ones."

"Oh, get out!" he said gruffly, and he half turned away.  "We've no time
for picking sixpenn'orths, boy.  Run up into the road to the
greengrocer's shop."

My face grew scarlet, and the beautiful garden seemed as if it was under
a cloud instead of the full blaze of sunshine, while I turned upon my
heel and was walking straight back.

"Here!"

I walked on.

"Hi, boy!" shouted old Brownsmith.

I turned round, and he was signalling to me with the whole of his
crooked arm.

"Come on," he shouted, and he thrust a hand and the greater part of his
arm into one of his big pockets, and pulled out one of those curved
buckhorn-handled knives, which he opened with his white teeth.

He did not look quite so grim now, as he said:

"Come o' purpose, eh?"

"Yes," I said.

"Ah! well, I won't send you back without 'em, only I don't keep a shop."

I looked rather haughty and consequential, I believe, but the looks of
such a boy as I made no impression, and he began to cut here and there
moss, and maiden's blush, and cabbage roses--simple old-fashioned
flowers, for the great French growers had not filled England with their
beautiful children, and a gardener in these days would not have believed
in the possibility of a creamy _Gloire de Dijon_ or that great
hook-thorned golden beauty _Marechal Niel_.

He cut and cut, long-stalked flowers with leaf and bud, and thrust them
into his left hand, his knife cutting and his hand grasping the flower
in one movement, while his eye selected the best blossom at a glance.

At last there were so many that I grew fidgety.

"I said sixpenn'orth, sir, flowers and strawberries," I ventured to
remark.

"Not deaf, my lad," he replied with a grim smile.  "Here, let's get some
of these."

These were pinks and carnations, of which he cut a number, pushing one
of the cats aside with his foot so that it should not be in his way.

"Here you are!" he cried.  "Mind the thorns.  My roses have got plenty
to keep off pickers and stealers.  Now, what next?"

"I did want some strawberries," I said, "but--"

"Where's your basket, my hearty?"

I replied that I had not brought one.

"You're a pretty fellow," he said.  "I can't tie strawberries up in a
bunch.  Why didn't you bring a basket?  Oh, I see; you want to carry 'em
inside?"

"No," I said shortly, for he seemed now unpleasantly familiar, and the
garden was not half so agreeable as I had expected.

However he seemed to be quite good-tempered now, and giving me a nod and
a jerk of his head, which meant--"This way," he went down a path, cut a
great rhubarb leaf, and turned to me.

"Here, catch hold," he cried; "here's one of nature's own baskets.  Now
let's see if there's any strawberries ripe."

I saw that he was noticing me a good deal as we went along another path
towards where the garden was more open, but I kept on in an independent
way, smelling the pinks from time to time, till we came to a great
square bed, all straw, with the great tufts of the dark green strawberry
plants standing out of it in rows.  The leaves looked large, and
glistened in the sunshine, and every here and there I could see the
great scarlet berries shining as if they had been varnished, and waiting
to be picked.

"Ah, thief!" shouted my guide, as a blackbird flew out of the bed,
uttering its loud call.  "Why, boys, boys, you ought to have caught
him."

This was to the cats, one of which answered by giving itself a rub down
his leg, while he clapped his hand upon my shoulder.

"There you are, my hearty.  It isn't so far for you to stoop as it would
be for me.  Go and pick 'em."

"Pick them?"  I said, looking at him wonderingly.

"To be sure.  Go ahead.  I'll hold your flowers.  Only take the ripe
ones, and see here--do you know how to pick strawberries?"

I felt so amused at such a silly question that I looked up at him and
laughed.

"Oh, you do?" he said.

"Why, anybody could pick strawberries," I replied.

"Really, now!  Well, let's see.  There's a big flat fellow, pick him."

I handed him the flowers, and stepping between two rows of plants,
stooped down, and picked the great strawberry he pointed out.

"Oh, you call that picking, do you?" he said.

"Yes, sir.  Don't you?"

"No: I call it tearing my plants to pieces.  Why, look here, if my
pickers were to go to work like that, I should only get half a crop and
my plants would be spoiled."

I looked at him helplessly, and wished he would pick the strawberries
himself.

"Look here," he said, stooping over a plant, and letting a great scarlet
berry specked with golden seeds fall over into his hand.  "Now see:
finger nail and thumb nail; turn 'em into scissors; draw one against the
other, and the stalk's through.  That's the way to do it, and the rest
of the bunch not hurt.  Now then, your back's younger than mine.  Go
ahead."

I felt hot and uncomfortable, but I took the rhubarb leaf, stepped in
amongst the clean straw, and, using my nails as he had bid me, found
that the strawberries came off wonderfully well.

"Only the ripe ones, boy; leave the others.  Pick away.  Poor old Tommy
then!"

I looked up to see if he was speaking to me, but he had let one of the
cats run up to his shoulder, and he was stroking the soft lithe creature
as it rubbed itself against his head.

"That's the way, boy," he cried, as I scissored off two or three berries
in the way he had taught me.  "I like to see a chap with brains.  Come,
pick away."

I did pick away, till I had about twenty in the soft green leaf, and
then I stopped, knowing that in flowers and fruit I had twice as much as
I should have obtained at the shop.

"Oh, come, get on," he cried contemptuously.  "You're not half a fellow.
Don't stop.  Does your back ache?"

"No, sir," I said; "but--"

"Oh, you wouldn't earn your salt as a picker," he cried.  As he said
this he came on to the bed, and, bending down, seemed to sweep a hand
round the strawberry plant, gathering its leaves aside, and leaving the
berries free to be snipped off by the right finger and thumb.  He kept
on bidding me pick away, but he sheared off three to my one, and at the
end of a few minutes I was holding the rhubarb leaf against my breast to
keep the fruit from falling over the side.

"There you are," he cried at last.  "That do?"

"Oh, yes, sir," I said; "but--"

"That's enough," he cried sharply.  "Here, hand over that sixpence.
Money's money, and you can't get on without it, youngster."

I gave him the coin, and he took it, span it up in the air, caught it,
and after dragging out a small wash-leather bag he dropped it in, gave
me a comical look as he twisted a string about the neck, tucked it in,
and replaced the bag in his pocket.

"There you are," he cried.  "Small profits and quick returns.  No credit
given.  Toddle; and don't you come and bother me again.  I'm a market
grower, my young shaver, and can't trade your fashion."

"I did not know, sir," I said, trying to look and speak with dignity,
for it was very unpleasant to be addressed so off-handedly by this man,
just as if I had been asking him a favour.

"I'm very much obliged to you," I added, for I had glanced at the bunch
of roses; and as I looked at the fresh sweet-scented beauties I thought
of how delighted my poor mother would be, and I could not help feeling
that old Brownsmith had been very generous.

Then making him rather an awkward bow, I stalked off, feeling very
small, and was some distance back towards the gate, wondering whether I
should meet "Shock," when from behind there came a loud "Hi!"

I paid no heed and went on, for it was not pleasant to be shouted at
like that by a market grower, and my dignity was a good deal touched by
the treatment I had received; but all at once there came from behind me
such a roar that I was compelled to stop, and on turning round there was
old Brownsmith trotting after me, with his cats skipping about in all
directions to avoid being trodden on and to keep up.

He was very much more red in the face now, for the colour went all down
below his cheeks and about his temples, and he was shining very much.

"Why, I didn't know you with your cap on," he cried.  "Take it off.  No,
you can't.  I will."

To my great annoyance he snatched off my cap.

"To be sure!  I'm right," he said, and then he put my cap on again,
uncomfortably wrong, and all back: for no one can put your cap on for
you as you do it yourself.  "You live over yonder at the white house
with the lady who is ill?"

I nodded.

"The widow lady?"

"I live with mamma," I said shortly.

"Been very ill, hasn't she?"

"Yes, sir."

"Ah! bad thing illness, I suppose.  Never was ill, only when the wagon
went over my leg."

"Yes, sir, she has been very bad."

I was fidgeting to go, but he took hold of one of the ends of my little
check silk tie, and kept fiddling it about between his finger and thumb.

"What's the matter?"

"Dr Morrison told Mrs Beeton, our landlady, that it was decline, sir."

"And then Mrs Beeton told you?"

"No, sir, I heard the doctor tell her."

"And then you went and frightened the poor thing and made her worse by
telling her?"

"No, I did not, sir," I said warmly.

"Why not?"

"Because I thought it might make her worse."

"Humph!  Hah!  Poor dear lady!" he said more softly.  "Looked too ill to
come to church last Sunday, boy.  Flowers and fruit for her?"

I nodded.

"She send you to buy 'em?"

I shook my head, for I was so hurt by his abrupt way, his sharp
cross-examination, and the thoughts of my mother's illness, that I could
not speak.

"Who sent you then--Mrs Beeton?"

"No, sir."

"Who did?"

"Nobody, sir.  I thought she would like some, and I came."

"For a surprise, eh?"

Yes, sir.

"Own money?"

I stared at him hard.

"I said, Own money? the sixpence?  Where did you get it?"

"I have sixpence a week allowed me to spend."

"Hah! to be sure," he said, still holding on by my tie, and staring at
me as he fumbled with one hand in his trousers pocket.  "Get out, Dick,
or I'll tread on you!" this to one of the cats, who seemed to think
because he was black and covered with black fur that he was a
blacking-brush, and he was using himself accordingly all over his
master's boots.

"If you please, I want to go now," I said hurriedly.

"To be sure you do," he said, still holding on to the end of my tie--"to
be sure you do.  Hah! that's got him at last."

I stared in return, for there had been a great deal of screwing about
going on in that pocket, as if he could not get out his big fist, but it
came out at last with a snatch.

"Here, where are you?" he said.  "Weskit? why, what a bit of a slit it
is to call a pocket.  Hold the sixpence though, won't it?"

"If you please I'd rather pay for the flowers," I cried, flushing as he
held on by the tie with one hand, and thrust the sixpence back in my
pocket with the other.

"Dessay you would," he replied; "but I told you before I'm market grower
and dursen't take small sums.  Not according to Cocker.  Didn't know
Cocker, I suppose, did you?"

"No, sir."

"Taught 'rithmetic.  Didn't learn his 'rithmetic then?"

"No, sir," I replied, "Walkinghame's."

"Did you though?  There, now, you play a walking game, and get home and
count your strawberries."

"Yes, sir, but--"

"I say, what a fellow you are to but!  Why, you're like Teddy, my goat,
I once had.  No, no!  No money.  Welcome to the fruit, ditto flowers,
boy.  This way."

He was leading me towards the gate now like a dog by a string, and it
annoyed me that he would hold me by the end of my tie, the more so that
I could see Shock with a basket turned over his head watching me from
down amongst the trees.

"Come on again, my lad, often as you like.  Lots growing--lots spoils."

"Thank you, sir," I said diffidently, "but--"

"Woa, Teddy," he cried, laughing.  "There; that'll do.  Look here, why
don't you bring her for a walk round the garden--do her good?  Glad to
see her any time.  Here, what a fellow you are, dropping your
strawberries.  Let it alone, Dick.  Do for Shock."

I had let a great double strawberry roll off the top of my heap, and a
cat darted at it to give it a sniff; but old Brownsmith picked it up and
laid it on the top of a post formed of a cut-down tree.

"Now, then, let's get a basket.  Look better for an invalid.  One
minute: some leaves."

He stooped and picked some strawberry leaves, and one or two very large
ripe berries, which he told me were Myatt's.

Then taking me to a low cool shed that smelt strongly of cut flowers, he
took down a large open strawberry basket from a nail, and deftly
arranged the leaves and fruit therein, with the finest ripened fruit
pointing upwards.

"That's the way to manage it, my lad," he said, giving me a queer look;
"put all the bad ones at the bottom and the good ones at the top.
That's what you'd better do with your qualities, only never let the bad
ones get out."

"Now, your pinks and roses," he said; and, taking them, he shook them
out loosely on the bench beneath a window, arranged them all very
cleverly in a bunch, and tied it up with a piece of matting.

"I'm sure I'm very much obliged to you, sir," I said, warmly now, for it
seemed to me that I had been making a mistake about Mr Brownsmith, and
that he was a very good old fellow after all.

"That's right," he said, laughing.  "So you ought to be.  Good-bye.
Come again soon.  My dooty to your mamma, and I hope she'll be better.
Shake hands."

I held out my hand and grasped his warmly as we reached the gate, seeing
Shock watching me all the time.  Then as I stood outside old Brownsmith
laughed and nodded.

"Mind how you pack your strawberries," he said with a laugh; "bad 'uns
at bottom, good 'uns at top.  Good-bye, youngster, good-bye."



CHAPTER THREE.

OLD BROWNSMITH'S VISITOR.

The time glided on, but I did not go to the garden again, for my mother
felt that we must not put ourselves under so great an obligation to a
stranger.  Neither did I take her over for a walk, but we sat at the
window a great deal after lesson time; and whenever I was alone and
Shock was within sight, he used to indulge in some monkey-like gesture,
all of which seemed meant to show me what a very little he thought of
me.

At the end of a fortnight, as I was sitting at the window talking to a
boy who went to a neighbouring school, and telling him why I did not go,
a great clod of earth came over the wall and hit the boy in the back.

"Who's that!" he cried sharply.  "Did you shy that lump?"

"No," I said; and before I could say more, he cried:

"I know.  It was Brownsmith's baboon shied that.  Only let us get him
out in the fields, we'll give it him.  You know him, don't you?"

"Do you mean Shock?"  I said.

"Yes, that ragged old dirty chap," he cried.  "You can see him out of
your window, can't you?"

"I can sometimes," I said; "but I can't now."

"That's because he's sneaking along under the wall.  Never mind; we'll
pay him some day if he only comes out."

"Doesn't he come out then?"

"No.  He's nobody's boy, and sleeps in the sheds over there.  One of
Brownsmith's men picked him up in the road, and brought him home in one
of the market carts.  Brownsmith sent him to the workhouse, but he
always runs away and comes back.  He's just like a monkey, ain't he?
Here, I must go; but I say, why don't you ask your ma to let you come
and play with us; we have rare games down the meadows, bathing, and
wading, and catching dace?"

"I should like to come," I said dolefully.

"Ah, there's no end of things to see down there--water-rats and frogs;
and there's a swan's nest, with the old bird sitting; and don't the old
cock come after you savage if you go near!  Oh, we do have rare games
there on half-holidays!  I wish you'd come."

"I should like to," I said.

"Ain't too proud; are you?"

"Oh no!"  I said, shaking my head.

"Because I was afraid you were.  Well, I shall catch it if I stop any
longer.  I say, is your ma better?"

I shook my head.

"Ain't going to die, is she?"

"Oh no!"  I said sharply.

"That's all right.  Well, you get her to let you come.  What's your
name?"

"Grant," I said.

"Grant!  Grant what?"

"Dennison."

"Oh, all right, Grant!  I shall call for you next half-holiday; and mind
you come."

"Stop a moment," I said.  "What's your name?"

"George Day," he replied; and then my new friend trotted off, swinging
half-a-dozen books at the end of a strap, and I sat at the window
wishing that I too could go to school and have a strap to put round my
books and swing them, for my life seemed very dull.

All at once I saw something amongst the bristly young shoots of the
plum-trees along the wall, and on looking more attentively I made out
that it was the top of Shock's straw head-piece with the lid gone, and
the hair sticking out in the most comical way.

I watched him intently, fully expecting to see another great clod of
earth come over, and wishing I had something to throw back at him; but I
had nothing but a flower-pot with a geranium in it, and the shells upon
the chimney-piece, and they were Mrs Beeton's, and I didn't like to
take them.

The head came a little higher till the whole of the straw bonnet crown
was visible, and I could just make out the boy's eyes.

Of course he was watching me, and I sat and watched him, feeling that he
must have turned one of the trained plum-trees into a ladder, and
climbed up; and I found myself wondering whether he had knocked off any
of the young fruit.

Then, as he remained perfectly still, watching me, I began to wonder why
he should be so fond of taking every opportunity he could find to stare
at me; and then I wondered what old Brownsmith would say to him, or do,
if he came slowly up behind him and caught him climbing up his
beautifully trained trees.

Just then I heard a loud cough that I knew was old Brownsmith's, for I
had heard it dozens of times, and Shock's head disappeared as if by
magic.

I jumped up to see, for I felt sure that Shock was going to catch it,
and then I saw that old Brownsmith was not in his garden, but in the
lane on our side, and that he was close beneath the window looking up at
me.

He nodded, and I had just made up my mind that I would not complain
about Shock, when there was a loud thump of the knocker, and directly
after I heard the door open, a heavy step in the passage, the door
closed, and then the sound of old Brownsmith wiping his shoes on the big
mat.

His shoes could not have wanted wiping, for it was a very dry day, but
he kept on rub--rub--rub, till Mrs Beeton, who waited upon us as well
as let us her apartments, came upstairs, knocked at my mother's door,
and went down again.

Then there was old Brownsmith's heavy foot on the stair, and he was
shown in to where I was waiting.

"Mrs Dennison will be here directly," said our landlady, and the old
man smiled pleasantly at me.

I say old man, for he was in my eyes a very old man, though I don't
suppose he was far beyond fifty; but he was very grey, and grey hairs in
those days meant to me age.

"How do?" he said as soon as he saw me.  "Being such a nigh neighbour I
thought I'd come and pay my respects."

He had a basket in his hand, and just then my mother entered, and he
turned and began backing before her on to me.

"Like taking a liberty," he said in his rough way, "but your son and
me's old friends, ma'am, and I've brought you a few strawberries before
they're over."

Before my mother could thank him he went on:

"Been no rain, you see, and the sun's ripening of 'em off so fast.  A
few flowers, too, not so good as they should be, ma'am, but he said you
liked flowers."

I saw the tears stand in my mother's eyes as she thanked him warmly for
his consideration, and begged him to sit down.

But no.  He was too busy.  Lot of people getting ready for market and he
was wanted at home, he said, but he thought he would bring those few
strawberries and flowers.

"I told him, you know, how welcome you'd be," he continued.  "Garden's
always open to you, ma'am.  Come often.  Him too."

He was at the door as he said this, and nodding and bowing he backed
out, while I followed him downstairs to open the door.

"Look here," he said, offending me directly by catching hold of one end
of my neckerchief, "you bring her over, and look here," he went on in a
severe whisper, "you be a good boy to her, and try all you can to make
her happy.  Do you hear?"

"_Yes_, sir," I said.  "I do try."

"That's right.  Don't you worry her, because--because it's my opinion
that she couldn't bear it, and boys are such fellows.  Now you mind."

"Yes, sir," I said, "I'll mind;" and he went away, while, when I
returned to the room where my mother was holding the flowers to her
face, and seeming as if their beauty and sweetness were almost more than
she could bear, I glanced towards the window, and there once more, with
his head just above the wall, and peering through the thick bristling
twigs, was that boy Shock, watching our window till old Brownsmith
reached his gate.

Hardly a week had passed before the old man got hold of me as I was
going by his gate, taking me as usual by the end of my tie and leading
me down the garden to cut some more flowers.

"You haven't brought her yet," he said.  "Look here, if you don't bring
her I shall think you are too proud."

"He shall not think that," my mother said; and for the next week or two
she went across for a short time every day, while I walked beside her,
for her to lean upon my shoulder, and to carry the folding seat so that
she might sit down from time to time.

Upon these occasions I never saw Shock, and old Brownsmith never came
near us.  It was as if he wanted us to have the garden to ourselves for
these walks, and to a great extent we did.

Of course I used to notice how often I had to spread out that chair for
her to sit down under the shady trees; but I thought very little more of
it.  She was weak.  Well, I knew that; but some people were weak, I
said, and some were strong, and she would be better when it was not so
hot.



CHAPTER FOUR.

A LESSON IN SWIMMING.

It was hot!  One of those dry summers when the air seems to quiver with
the heat, and one afternoon, as I was in my old place at the window
watching Shock go to and fro, carrying baskets of what seemed to be
beans, George Day came along.

"I say," he cried, "ask leave to come with us.  We've got a
half-holiday."

Just then I saw the bristling shoots on the wall shake, but I paid no
heed, for I was too much interested in my new friend's words.

"Where are you going?"  I asked.

"Oh, down the meadows! that's the best place, and there's no end of fun
to be had.  I'll take a fishing-rod."  I went to where my mother was
lying down and asked her consent, receiving a feeble _yes_, and her hand
went up to my neck, to draw me down that she might kiss me.

"Be back in good time," she whispered.  "George Day, you said?"

"Yes; his father is something in London, and he goes to the
grammar-school."

"Be back in good time," she whispered again; and getting my cap, I just
caught sight of Shock at the top of the wall as I ran by the window.

"Poor fellow!"  I thought, "how he, too, would like a holiday!"

"Here I am," I cried; and feeling as if I had been just released from
some long confinement, I set off with my companion at a sharp run.

We had to call at his house, a large red brick place just at the end of
the village, close to Isleworth church, where the rod was obtained, with
a basket to hold bait, lines, and the fish that we were going to catch;
and soon after we were down where the sleek cows were contentedly lying
about munching, and giving their heads an angry toss now and then to
keep off the flies.

Rich grass, golden butter-cups, bushes and trees whose boughs swept down
towards the ground, swallows and swifts darting here and there, and
beneath the vividly blue sky there was the river like so much damascened
silver, for in those days one never thought about the mud.

I cannot describe the joy I felt in running here and there with my
companion, and a couple of his school-fellows who had preceded us, and
who saluted us as we approached with a shout.

We ran about till we were tired, and then the fishing commenced from the
bank, for the tide was well up, and according to my companion's account
the fish were in plenty.

Perhaps they were, but though bait after bait was placed upon the hook,
and the line thrown out to float along with the current, not a fish was
caught, no vestige of that nerve-titillating tremble of the float--a
bite--was seen.

Every now and then some one struck sharply, trying to make himself
believe that roach or dace had taken the bait, but the movement of the
float was always due to the line dragging the gravelly ground, or the
bait touching one of the many weeds.

The sun was intensely hot, and scorched our backs, and burned our faces
by flashing back from the water, which looked cool and tempting, as it
ran past our feet.

We fished on, sometimes one handling the rod and sometimes the other--
beginning by throwing in the line with whispered words, so as not to
frighten the fish that were evidently not there, and ending by sending
in bait and float with a splash, and with noise and joking.

"There's a big one," some one would cry, and a clod torn out from the
bank, or a stone, would be thrown in amidst bursts of laughter.

"Oh it's not a jolly bit of good," cried one of the boys; "they won't
bite to-day.  I'm so thirsty, let's have a drink."

"No, no, don't drink the water," I said; "it isn't good enough."

"What shall we do then--run after the cows for a pen'orth of milk?"

"I say, look there," cried George Day; "the tide's turned.  It's running
down.  We shall get plenty of fish now."

"Why, there's somebody bathing down below there," cried another of the
boys.

"Yes, and can't he swim!"

"Let's all have a bathe," cried young Day.

"Ah, come on: it will be jolly here.  Who's first in?"

I looked on half in amazement, for directly after catching sight of the
head of some lad in the water about a couple of hundred yards below us,
who seemed to be swimming about in the cool water with the greatest
ease, my companions began to throw off caps and jackets, and to untie
and kick off their boots.

"But we haven't got any towels," cried George Day.

"Towels!" cried one of the others; "why, the sun will dry us in five
minutes; come on.  What a day for a swim!"

It did look tempting there at the bottom of that green meadow, deep in
grass and with the waving trees to hide us from observation, though
there was not a house within a mile, nor, saving an occasional barge
with a sleepy man hanging over the tiller, a boat to be seen, and as I
watched the actions of my companions, I, for the first time in my life,
felt the desire to imitate them come on me strongly.

They were not long undressing, one kicking off his things anyhow,
another carefully folding them as he took them off, and tucking his
socks inside his boots.  But careful and careless alike, five minutes
had not elapsed before to my delight George Day, who was a boy of about
fourteen, ran back a dozen yards from the river's brink and threw up his
arms.

"One, two, three, cock warning!" he shouted, ran by me swiftly, and
plunged into the river with a tremendous splash.

I felt horrified, but the next moment his head reappeared bobbing about,
and he swam along easily and well.

"Oh it's so lovely," he cried.  "Come along."

"All right!" cried one of his friends, sitting down on the edge of the
bank, and lowering himself in gently, to stand for a few moments up to
his arm-pits, and then duck his head down twice, rubbing his eyes to get
the water out, and then stooping down and beginning to swim slowly and
laboriously, and with a great deal of puffing.

"Oh, what a cowardly way of getting in!" said the third, who stood on
the bank, hesitating.

"Well, let's see you, then," cried George Day, who was swimming close at
hand.  "Jump in."

"Oh, I can't jump in like you do," said the other; "it gives me the
headache."

"Why, you're afraid."

"No, I'm not."

"Yes, you are.  Come in, or I'll pull you down."

"There!"

The boy jumped in feet first, and as soon as he came up he struggled to
the bank, and puffed and panted and squeezed the water out of his hair.

"Oh my, isn't it jolly cold!" he cried.  "It takes all my breath away."

"Cold!" cried the others; "it's lovely.  Here you, Dennison, come in."

"I can't swim," I said, feeling a curious shrinking on the one side,
quite a temptation on the other.

"And you never will," cried George Day, "if you don't try.  It's so
easy: look here!"

He swam a few yards with the greatest ease, turned round, and began
swimming slowly back.

"Go on--faster," I cried, for I was interested.

"Can't," he cried, "tide runs so sharp.  If I didn't mind I should be
swept right away.  Come in.  I'll soon teach you."

I shook my head.

"Oh, you are a fellow.  Come on."

"No, I sha'n't bathe," I said in a doubtful tone.

"Oh, here's a chap!  I say isn't he a one!  Always tied to his mother's
apron-string: can't play cricket, or rounders, or football, and can't
swim.  I say, isn't he a molly."

The others laughed, and being now out of their misery, as they termed
it, they were splashing about and enjoying the water, but neither of
them went far from the bank.

"I say, why don't you come in?" cried the boy who jumped in feet first.
"You will like it so."

"Yes: come along, and try to swim.  I can take five strokes.  Look
here."

I watched while the boy went along puffing and panting, and making a
great deal of splashing.

"Get out!" said the other; "he has got one leg on the ground.  This is
the way to learn to swim.  Look here, Dennison, my father showed me."

I looked, and he waded out three or four yards, till the water was
nearly over his shoulders.

"Oh, I say, isn't the tide strong!" he cried.  "Now, then, look."

He threw up his arms, joined his hands as he stood facing me, made a
sort of jump and turned right over, plunging down before me, his legs
and feet coming right out, and then for some seconds there was a great
deal of turmoil and splashing in the muddy water, and he came up close
to the bank.

"That's the way," he cried, panting.  "You have to try to get to the
bottom, and that gives you confidence."

"I didn't learn that way," shouted George Day.  "See me float!"

We all looked, and he turned over on his back, but splashed a good deal
to keep himself up.  Then all at once he went under, and my heart seemed
to stand still, but he came up again directly, shaking his head and
spitting.

"Tread water!" he cried; and he seemed to be wading about with
difficulty.

"Is it deep there?"  I shouted.

"Look," he cried; and raising his hands above his head he sank out of
sight, his hands disappearing too, and then he was up again directly and
swam to the bank.

"I wish I could swim like you do," I said, looking at him with
admiration.

"Well, it's easy enough," he said.  "Come along."

"Shall I?"

"Yes.  Why, what are you afraid of?  Nobody ever comes down here except
us boys who want a bathe.  Slip off your clothes and have a good dip.
You're sure to like it."

"But I've never been used to it," I protested.

"Then get used to it," he cried.  "I say, boys, he ought to learn,
oughtn't he?"

"Yes," cried the others.  "Let's get out and make him."

"Oh, I don't want any making," I said proudly.  "But I say--is it
dangerous?"

"Dangerous!  Hark at him!  Ha--ha--ha!" laughed Day.  "Why, what are you
afraid of?  There, jump out of your jacket.  I sha'n't stop in much
longer, and I want to give you a lesson."

"He's afraid," shouted the other two boys.

"Am I!  You'll see," I said sturdily; and, feeling as if I were going to
do something very desperate, and with a curious sensation of dread
coming all over me, even to the roots of my hair, I rapidly undressed
and went to the edge.

"Hooray!" shouted Day.  "Now, look here: you can jump in head first,
which is the proper way, or sneak in toes first, like they do.  Show 'em
you aren't afraid.  They daren't jump in head first.  Come on; I'll take
care you don't come up too far out, as you can't swim."

"Would it matter if I did?"  I said excitedly.

"Get along with you! no," cried Day.

I hesitated, for the water looked very dreadful, and in spite of the
burning sunshine it seemed cold.  I felt so helpless too, and would
gladly have run back to my clothes and dressed, instead of standing on
the brink of the river.

"In with you," shouted Day, backing away from the bank, and the other
two boys stood a little way off, with the water up to their chests,
grinning and jeering.

"He daren't."

"He's afraid."

"I say, don't you jump in: you'll get wet."

"I say, young 'un, don't.  You learn to swim in the washing-tub in warm
water."

"Don't you take any notice of them," cried Day.  "You jump in.  Join
your hands above your head and go in with a regular good leap.  They
can't."

I felt desperate.  The water seemed to drive me back, but all the time
the jeers of the boys pricked and stirred me on, and at last, obeying
Day to the letter, I placed my hands above my head, diver fashion, and
took the plunge down into the darkness of the chilly water, which seemed
to roar and thunder in my ears, and then, before I knew where I was, I
found myself standing up, spitting, half blind, with a curious burning
sensation in my nostrils, and a horrible catching of the breath.

"Hooray!" shouted Day.  "You've beat them hollow.  Now you're out of
your misery and can show them.  I bet a penny you learn to swim before
they can."

This was encouraging, and I began to feel a warm glow of satisfaction in
my veins.

"Catch hold of my hand," cried Day.

"No, no," I cried excitedly.  "You'll take me where it's deep."

"Get out!" he said.  "I shouldn't be such a fool.  There, go on then by
yourself.  Don't go where it's more than up to your chin."

"Oh, no!"  I said, stooping and rising, and letting the water, as it ran
swiftly, send a curious cold thrill all over me.  And then, as I began
cautiously to wade about, panting, and with my breath coming in an
irregular manner, there was a very pleasurable sensation in it all.
First I began to notice how firm and close and heavy the water felt, and
how it pressed against me.  Then I began to think of how hard it was to
walk, the water keeping me back; and directly after, as I stepped
suddenly in a soft place all mud, which seemed to ooze up between my
toes, the water came to my shoulders, and I felt as if I were being
lifted from my feet.

"I say how do you like it?" cried Day, who was swimming a few yards
away.

"I don't know," I panted.  "I think I like it."

"Oh, you'll soon think it glorious," he replied.  "You'll love it as
soon as you can swim."

The other two had waded on for some distance against the current, taking
no further interest in me now I had made my plunge.

"I should like to swim," I said.

"Oh it's easy enough once you get used to it.  That chap down below
there swims twice as well as I can, but I don't know who he is."

"What shall I do first?"  I asked.

"Oh, throw yourself flat on the water, and kick out your arms and legs
like I do--like a frog.  You'll soon learn.  Now I'm going to swim up as
far as they are, and then let myself float back.  You'll see me come
down.  It's so easy.  You watch."

"All right!"  I said.

"You keep close in to the bank," he shouted; "the tide don't run there.
Keep on trying to throw yourself down and kick out like a frog.  You'll
soon swim."

I nodded, and stood holding on by a tuft of coarse sedge, watching him
as he threw himself on his side, and went off pretty close to the bank,
where the water was eddying; and the next minute he was beyond a clump
of sedge that projected into the river, and I was alone.

I felt no dread now, for the water seemed pleasantly cool, and I began
to grow more confident.  The buoyancy was delicious, and I found that by
holding on with both hands to the long rushes I could float on the
water, throwing myself down and keeping close to the surface, but with
my legs gradually sinking, till I gave them a kick and rose again.

I amused myself this way for a minute or two, and then, leaving the tuft
of rushes, I began to wade slowly along with the water up to my chest,
and every now and then I stooped down, so that it came above my
shoulders, and struck out with my hands; but I dare not throw myself
flat with my legs off the bottom.  That was too much to expect, and I
had not recovered yet from the desperate plunge in, the recollection of
which made me wonder at my temerity.

It was very nice, that first lesson in the water's buoyancy, and as I
jumped up, or lowered myself down, or held on by the tufts by the brink,
and let myself float, I could not help comparing myself to the soap in
the bathtub at home, for that almost floated, but gradually settled down
to the bottom, just as my body seemed to do.

"I shall soon swim," I thought to myself; but I felt no inclination to
risk the first plunge and begin the struggle.  It was far more pleasant
to keep on wading there with the water up to my chest, and the delicious
sensation of novelty, half fear, half pleasure, making me now venture
out a few inches into deeper water, now shrink back towards the bank.

How beautiful it all seemed, with the mellow afternoon sunlight dancing
on the water as a puff of warm wind came now and then along the river.
The trees were so green and the sky so blue, and the barges, and horses
that drew them by the towing-path on the other side, all seemed to add
to my pleasure, for the barges seemed to glide along so easily, and they
floated, and that was what I wanted to do.

I forgot all about my companions, who must have been a couple of hundred
yards higher up the river, while I was wading down.

By degrees I found the water a little deeper, and I shrank from it at
first, but I was close to the bank and had only to stretch out my hand
to catch hold of a tuft of grass or sedge, and, after the shrinking
sensation, it seemed pleasant to have the water higher up about my
shoulders.  It was so much harder to walk, and I could feel myself
almost panting.  Beside this there was a nice soft muddy bottom,
pleasanter to the feet than the gravel where I had plunged in.

Yes: I thought it a much nicer place there, and I was slowly and
cautiously wading on, while all at once I found the water seeming to
come in the opposite direction, curving round towards me in a place
where the bank was scooped out.

It looked so smooth that I pressed on, taking one step forward, so that
the water might rush up against me, and--then I was floating, for my
feet found no bottom, and with an excited thrill of delight I felt that
I could swim.

Yes; there was no doubt about it.  I could swim as easily as George Day,
only I was not moving my hands, while the water was bearing me up and
carrying me round as in a whirlpool just once, and then I was swept into
the tide-way with the water thundering in my ears, a horrible strangling
sensation in my nostrils, and a dimness coming over my aching eyes.

I could never remember much about it, only that it was all a confusion
of thundering in my ears and rushing sounds.  I kept on beating the
water with my hands as I had seen a dog beat the surface when he could
not swim, and I seemed to throw my head right back as I gasped for
breath.  But I do not remember that it was very horrible, or that I was
drowning, as I surely was.  Confusion is the best expression for
explaining my sensations as I was swept rapidly down by the tide.

What do I remember next?  I hardly know.  Only a sensation of some one
catching me by the wrist, from somewhere in the darkness that was
closing me in.  But the next thing after that is, I remember shutting my
eyes, because the sun shone in them so fiercely as I lay on my back in
the grass, with my head aching furiously, and a strange pain at the back
of my neck, as if some one had been trying to break my head off, as a
mischievous child would serve a doll.

Just then I heard some one sobbing and crying, and I felt as if I must
be asleep and dreaming all this.

"Don't make that row.  He's all right, I tell you.  He isn't drowned.
What's the good of making a row like that!"

It was George Day's voice, and opening my eyes I said hoarsely:

"What's the matter?  Is he hurt?"

"No: it's only Harry Leggatt thought you were--you were hurt, you know.
Can you get up, and run?  All our clothes are two fields off.  Come on.
The sun will dry you."

I got up, feeling giddy and strange, and the aching at the back of my
head was almost unbearable; but I began to walk with Day holding my
hand, and after a time--he guiding me, for I felt very stupid--I began
to trot; and at last, with my head throbbing and whirring, I found
myself standing by my clothes, and my companions helped me to dress.

"You went out too far," Day said.  "I told you not, you know."

I was shivering with cold and terribly uncomfortable with putting on my
things over my wet chilled body.  It had been a hard task too,
especially with my socks, but I hardly spoke till we were walking home,
and when I did it was during the time I was smoothing my wet hair with a
pocket comb lent me by one of the boys.

"How was it I went too far?"  I said at last, dolefully.

"I don't know," said Day.  "I shouldn't have known anything if that chap
Shock hadn't come shouting to us; and when we came, thinking he was
going to steal our clothes, he brought us and showed us where he had
dragged you out on to the bank.  It was him we saw swimming when we
first went in."

"Where is he now?"  I said wearily.  "Let's ask him all about it."

"I don't know," replied Day.  "He ran off to dress himself, I suppose,
and he didn't come back.  But I say, you're better now."

"Oh yes!"  I said, "I'm better now;" and by degrees the walk in the warm
afternoon sunshine seemed to make me feel more myself; beside which I
was dry when I got back home, but very low-spirited and dull.

I did not say anything, for my mother was lying down, and Mrs Beeton
never invited my confidence; beside which I felt rather
conscience-stricken, and after having my solitary tea I went to the
window, feeling warmer, and less disposed to shiver.

And as I sat there about seven o'clock on that warm summer evening it
almost seemed as if my afternoon's experience had been a dream, and that
Shock had not swum out and saved me from drowning, for there he was
under one of the pear-trees, with a switch and a piece of clay, throwing
pellets at our house, one of which came right in at the open window
close by my cheek, and struck against Mrs Beeton's cheffonier door.



CHAPTER FIVE.

BEGINNING A NEW LIFE.

I don't want to say much about a sad, sad time in my life, but old
Brownsmith played so large a part in it then that I feel bound to set it
all down.

I saw very little more of George Day, for just about that time he was
sent off to another school; and I am glad to recollect that I went
little away from the invalid who used to watch me with such wistful
eyes.

I had no more lessons in swimming, but I saved up a shilling for a
particular purpose, and that was to give to Shock; but though I tried to
get near him time after time when I was in the big garden with my
mother, no sooner did I seem to be going after him than the boy went off
like some wild thing--diving in amongst the bushes, and, knowing the
garden so well, he soon got out of sight.

I did not want to send the present by anybody, for that seemed to me
like entering into explanations why I sent the money; and I knew that if
the news reached my mother's ears that I had been half-drowned, it would
come upon her like a terrible shock; and she was, I knew now, too ill to
bear anything more.

So though I was most friendly in my disposition towards Shock, and
wanted to pay him in my mild way for saving my life, he persisted in
looking upon me as an enemy, and threw clay, clods, and, so to speak,
derisive gestures, whenever we met at a distance.

"I won't run after him any more," I said to myself one day.  "He's half
a wild beast, and if he wants us to be enemies, we will."

I suppose I knew a good deal for my age, as far as education went.  If I
had been set to answer the questions in an examination paper I believe I
should have failed; but all the same I had learned a great deal of
French, German, and Latin, and I could write a fair hand and express
myself decently on paper.  But when I sat at our window watching Shock's
wonderful activity, and recalled how splendidly he must be able to swim,
I used to feel as if I were a very inferior being, and that he was a
long way ahead of me.

As the time went on our visits to the garden used to grow less frequent;
but whenever the weather was fine and my mother felt equal to the task,
we used to go over; and towards the end old Brownsmith's big armed
Windsor chair, with its cushions, used to be set under a big quince tree
in the centre walk, just where there were most flowers, and as soon as
we had reached it the old fellow used to come down with a piece of
carpet to double up and put beneath my mother's feet.

"Used to be a bit of a spring here," he said with a nod to me; "might be
a little damp."

Then he would leave a couple of cats, "just for company like," he would
say, and then go softly away.

I did not realise it was so near when that terrible time came and I
followed my poor mother to her grave, seeing everything about me in a
strange, unnatural manner.  One minute it seemed to be real; then again
as if it were all a dream.  There were people about me in black, and I
was in black, but I was half stunned, listening to the words that were
said; and at last I was left almost alone, for those who were with me
stepped back a yard or two.

I was gazing down with my eyes dimmed and a strange aching feeling at my
heart, when I felt someone touch my elbow, and turning round to follow
whoever it was, I found old Brownsmith there, in his black clothes and
white neckerchief, holding an enormous bunch of white roses in his arms.

"Thought you'd like it, my lad," he said in a low husky voice.  "She
used to be very fond o' my white roses, poor soul!"

As he spoke he nodded and took his great pruning-knife from his coat
pocket, opened it with his teeth, and cut the strip of sweet-scented
Russia mat.  Then holding them ready in his arms he stood there while I
slowly scattered the beautiful flowers down more and more, more and
more, till the coffin was nearly covered, and instead of the black cloth
I saw beneath me the fragrant heap of flowers, and the dear, loving face
that had gazed so tenderly in mine seemed once more to be looking in my
eyes.

I held the last two roses in my hand for a moment or two, hesitating,
but I let them fall at last; and then the tears I had kept back so long
came with a rush, and I sank down on my knees sobbing as if my heart
would break.

It was one of my uncles who laid his hand upon my shoulder and made me
start as he bent over me, and said in a low, chilling voice:

"Get up, my boy; we are going back.  Come!--be a man!"

I did get up in a weary, wretched way, and as I did so I looked round
after old Brownsmith, and there he was a little distance off, watching
me, it seemed.  Then we went back, my relatives who were there taking
very little notice of me; and I was made the more wretched by hearing
one cousin, whom I had never seen before, say angrily that he did not
approve of that last scene being made--"such an exhibition with those
flowers."

It was about a month after that sad scene that I went over to see old
Brownsmith.  I was very young, but my life with my invalid mother had, I
suppose, made me thoughtful; and though I used to sit a great deal at
the window I felt as if I had not the heart to go into the great garden,
where every path and bed would seem to bring up one of the days when
somebody used to be sitting there, watching the flowers and listening to
the birds.

I used to fancy that if I went down any of her favourite walks I should
burst out crying; and I had a horror of doing that, for the knowledge
was beginning to dawn upon me that a great change was coming over my
life, and that I must begin to think of acting like a man.

As I turned in at the gate I saw Shock at the door of one of the lofts
over the big packing-sheds.  He had evidently gone up there after some
baskets, and as soon as I saw him I walked quickly in his direction; but
he darted out of sight in the loft; and if I had any idea of scaling the
ladder and going up to him to take him by storm, it was checked at once,
for a half-sieve basket--one of those flat, round affairs in which fruit
is packed--came flying out of the door, and then another and another,
one after the other, at a tremendous rate, quite sufficient to have
knocked me backwards before I was half-way up.

"A brute!"  I said angrily to myself.  "I'll treat him with contempt;"
and striding away I went down the garden, with the creaking, banging of
the falling baskets going on.  And when I turned to look, some fifty
yards away, there was a big heap of the round wicker-work flats at the
foot of the ladder, and others kept on flying out of the door.

I had not gone far before I saw old Brownsmith busy as usual amongst his
cats; and as he rose from stooping to tie up a plant he caught sight of
me, and immediately turned down the path where I was.

He held out his great rough hand, took mine, and shook it up and down
gently for quite a minute, just as if it had been the handle of a pump.

"Seen my new pansies?" he said.

I shook my head.

"No, of course you haven't," he said.  "Well, how are you?"

I said I was pretty well, and hoped he was.  "Middling," he replied.
"Want more sun.  Can't get my pears to market without more sun."

"It has been dull," I said.

"Splendid for planting out, my lad, but bad for ripening off.  Well, how
are you?"

I said again that I was very well; and he looked at me thoughtfully, put
one end of a bit of matting between his teeth, and drew it out tightly
with his left hand.  Then he began to twang it thoughtfully, and made it
give out a dull musical note.

"Seen my new pansies?" he said--"no, of course not," he added quickly;
"and I asked you before.  Come and look at them."

He led me to a bed which was full of beautifully rounded,
velvety-petalled flowers.

"What do you think of them?" he said--"eh?  There's a fine one,
_Mulberry Superb_; rich colour--eh?"

"They are lovely," I said warmly.

"Hah! yes!" he said, looking at me thoughtfully; "she liked white roses,
though--yes, white roses--and they are all over."

My lip began to quiver, but I mastered the emotion and he went on:

"Thought I should have seen you before, my lad.  Didn't think I should
see you for some time.  Thought perhaps I should never see you again.
Thought you'd be sure to come and say `Good-bye!' before you went.
Contradictions--eh?"

"I always meant to come over and see you, Mr Brownsmith," I said.

"Of course you did, my lad.  Been damp and cold.  Want more sun badly."

I said I hoped the weather would soon change, and I began to feel
uncomfortable and was just thinking I would go, when he thrust the piece
of matting in his pocket, and took up and began stroking one of the
cats.

"Ah! it's a bad job, my lad!" he said softly--"a terrible job!"

I nodded.

"A sad job, my lad!--a very sad job!"

I nodded again, and waited till a choking sensation had gone off.

"Boys don't think enough about their mothers--some boys don't," he went
on.  "I didn't, till she was took away.  You did--stopped with her a
deal."

"I'm afraid,"--I began.

"I'm not," he said, interrupting me hastily.  "I notice a deal--weather,
and people, and children, and boys, and things growing.  Want sun
badly--don't we?"

"Yes, sir," I said; and I looked up in his florid face, with its bushy
white whiskers; and then I looked at his great bulging pockets, and next
down lower at his black legs, which the cats were turning into
rubbing-posts; and as they served me the same in the most friendly
manner I began wondering whether he ever brushed his black trousers, and
thought of what a job I should have to get all the cats' hairs off mine.

For there they all were, quite a little troop, arching their backs and
purring, sticking their tails straight up, and every now and then giving
their ends a flick.

They were so friendly in their rubbings against me that I did not like
to refuse to accept their salutes; but it seemed to me as if only the
light-coloured hairs came off, and in a short time I was furry from the
knees of my black trousers down to my boots.

There was something, too, of welcome in their ways that was pleasant to
me in my desolate position, for just then I seemed as if I had not one
friend in the world; and even Mr Brownsmith seemed strange and cold,
and as if he would be very glad when I was gone and he could get along
with his work.

"There, there," he cried suddenly, "we mustn't fret about it, you know.
It's what we must all come to, and I don't hold with people making it
out dreadful.  It's very sad, boy, so it is.  Dull weather too.  When
all my trees and plants die off for the winter, we don't call that
dreadful, because we know they'll all bud and leaf and blossom again
after their long sleep; and so it is with them as has gone away.  There,
there, there, you must try to be a man."

"Yes, sir," I said; "I am trying very hard."

"That's the way," he cried; "that's the way;" and he clapped me on the
shoulder.  "To be sure it is hard work, though, when you are on'y twelve
or thirteen years old."

"Yes, sir."

"But look here, boy, there's a tremendous deal done by a lad who makes
up his mind to try; do you see?"

"Yes sir, I see," I said, looking at him wonderingly, for he did not
seem to want to get rid of me now, as he was holding me tightly by the
arm.

"'Member coming for the strawberries?" he said drily.

"Yes, sir."

"Thought me a disagreeable old fellow, didn't you then?"

I hesitated, but he looked at me sharply.

"Yes, sir, I did then," I said.  "I did not know how kind you could be."

"That's just what I am," he said gruffly; "very disagreeable."

I shook my head.

"I am," he said.  "Ask any of my men and women.  Here--what's going to
become of you, my lad--what are you going to be--soldier like your
father?"

"Oh no!"  I said.

"What then?"

"I don't know, sir.  I believe I am to wait till my uncles and my
father's cousin have settled."

"How many of them are to settle it, boy?"

"Four, sir."

"Four, eh, my boy!  Ah, then I suppose it will take a lot of settling!
You'll have to wait."

"Yes, sir, I've got to wait," I said.

"But have you no prospects?"

"Oh yes, sir!"  I said.  "I believe I have."

"Well, what?"

"My uncle Frederick said that I must make up my mind to go somewhere and
earn my own living."

"That's a nice prospect."

"Yes, sir."

He was silent for a moment or two, and then smiled.

"Well, you're right," he said.  "It is a nice prospect, though you and I
were thinking different things.  I like a boy to make up his mind to
earn his living when he is called upon to do it.  Makes him busy and
self-reliant--makes a man of him.  Did he say how?"

"Who, sir--my uncle Frederick?"

"Yes."

"No, sir, he only said that I must wait."

"Like I have to wait for the sun to ripen my fruit, eh?  Ah, but I don't
like that.  If the sun don't come I pick it, and store it under cover to
ripen as well as it will."

I looked at him wonderingly.

"That waiting," he went on, "puts me in mind of the farmer and his corn
in the fable--get out, cats!--he waited till he found that the proper
thing to do was to get his sons to work and cut the corn themselves."

"Yes, sir," I said smiling; "and then the lark thought it was time to
take her young ones away."

"Good, lad; right!" he cried.  "That fable contains the finest lesson a
boy can learn.  Don't you wait for others to help you: help yourself."

"I'll try, sir."

"That's right.  Ah!  I wish I had always been as wise as that lark."

"Then you would not wait if you were me, sir?"  I said, looking up at
him wonderingly.

"Not a week, my lad, if you can get anything to do.  Fact is, I've been
looking into it, and your relations are all waiting for each other to
take you in hand.  There isn't one of them wants the job."

I sighed, and said:

"I'm afraid I shall be a great deal of trouble to them, sir, and an
enormous expense."

"Oh, you think so, do you!" he said, stooping down and lifting up first
one cat and then another, stroking them gently the while.  Then one of
them, as usual, leaped upon his back.  "Well, look here, my boy," he
said thoughtfully, "that's all nonsense about expense!  I--"

He stopped short and went on stroking one cat's back, as it rubbed
against his leg, and he seemed to be thinking very deeply.

"Yes, all nonsense.  See here; wait for a week or two, perhaps one of
your uncles may find you something to do, or send you to a good school,
eh?"

"No, sir," I said; "my uncle Frederick said I must not expect to be sent
to a school."

"Oh he did, did he?"

"Yes, sir."

"Well, then, if nothing better turns up--if they don't find you a good
place, you might come and help me."

"Help you, sir!"  I said wonderingly; "what, learn to be a
market-gardener?"

"Yes, there's nothing so very dreadful in that, is there?"

"Oh no, sir! but what could I do?"

"Heaps of things.  Tally the bunches and check the sieves, learn to bud
and graft, and how to cut young trees, and--oh, I could find you enough
to do."

I looked at him aghast, and began to see in my mind's eye rough, dirty
Shock, crawling about on his hands and knees, and digging out the weeds
from among the onions with his fingers.

"Oh, there's lots of things you could do!" he continued.  "Why, of a
night you might use your pen and help me do the booking, and read and
improve yourself while I sat and smoked my pipe.  Cats don't come into
the house."

"Do you mean that I should come and live with you, sir?"  I said.

"That's it, my boy, always supposing you couldn't do any better.  Could
you?"

I shook my head.  "I don't think so, sir," I said dismally.

"Not such a good life for a boy in winter when things are bare, as in
summer when the flowers are out and the fruit comes on.  Like fruit,
don't you?"

"Yes, sir, but you don't let your boys eat the fruit."

"Tchah!  I should never miss what you would eat," he said with a laugh,
"and you would soon get tired of the apples and pears and gooseberries.
Think you'd like to come, eh-em?  You don't know; of course you don't.
Wouldn't make a gentleman of you.  I never heard of a gentleman
gardener; plenty of gentlemen farmers, though."

"Yes, sir," I said, with my heart beating fast, "I've heard of gentlemen
farmers."

"But not of gentlemen market-gardeners, eh?  No, my boy, they don't call
us gentlemen, and I never professed to be one; but a man may be a
gentleman at heart whatever his business, and that's better than being a
gentleman in name."

I looked up in his fresh red face, and there was such a kindly look in
it that I felt happier than I had been for weeks, and I don't know what
moved me to do it, but I laid my hand upon his arm.

He looked down at me thoughtfully as he went on.

"People are rather strange about these things.  Gentleman farmer
cultivates a hundred acres of land that he pays a hundred and fifty
pounds a year for say: market-gardener cultivates twenty acres that he
pays two or three hundred for; and they call the one a gentleman, the
other a gardener.  But it don't matter, Master Dennison, a bit.  Does
it?"

"No, sir," I said, "I don't think so."

"Old business, gardening," he went on, with a dry look at me--"very old.
Let me see.  There was a man named Adam took to it first, wasn't there?
Cultivated a garden, didn't he?"

I nodded and smiled.

"Ah, yes," he said; "but that was a long time ago, and you've not been
brought up for such a business.  You wouldn't like it."

"Indeed, but I should, sir," I cried enthusiastically.

"No, no," he said, deliberately.  "Don't be in a hurry to choose, my
boy.  I knew a lad once who said he would like to be a sailor, and he
went to sea and had such a taste of it from London to Plymouth that he
would not go any farther, and they had to set him ashore."

"He must have been a great coward," I said.

"To be sure he was; but then you might be if you pricked your finger
with the thorns of a rose, or had to do something in the garden when it
was freezing hard, eh?"

"I don't think I should be," I replied.

"But you must think," he said.  "It's very nice to see flowers blooming
and fruit fit to pick with the sun shining and the sky blue; but life is
not all summer, my boy, is it?  There are wet days and storms, and rough
times, and the flowers you see blossoming have been got ready in the
cold wintry weather, when they were only seeds, or bare shabby-looking
roots."

"Yes, I know that," I said.

"And you think you would like to come?"

"Yes, sir."

"What for? to play in the garden, and look on while the work is done?"

"I think I should be ashamed to do that," I said; "it would be so lazy.
If you please, Mr Brownsmith, I've got to work and do something, and if
you will have me, I should like to come."

"Well, well," he said, "mine's a good business and profitable and
healthy, and there are times when, in spite of bad crops, bad weather,
and market losses, I thank God that I took to such a pleasant and
instructive way of getting a living."

"It is instructive then, sir?"  I said.

"Instructive, my lad!" he cried with energy.  "I don't know any business
that is more full of teaching.  I've been at it all my life, and the
older I grow the more I find there is to learn."

"I like that," I said, for it opened out a vista of adventure to me that
seemed full of bright flowers and sunshine.

"A man who has brains may go on learning and making discoveries, not
discoveries of countries and wonders, but of little things that may make
matters better for the people who are to come after him.  Then he may
turn a bit of the England where he works into a tropical country, by
covering it over with glass, and having a stove; then some day, if he
goes on trying, he may find himself able to write FRHS at the end of his
name."

"And did you, sir?"

"No," he said, "I never did.  I was content with plodding.  I'm a
regular plodder, you see; so's Samuel."

"Is he, sir?"  I said, for he evidently wanted me to speak.

"Yes, a regular plodder.  Well, there, my boy, we'll see.  Don't you be
in a hurry; wait and see if your relatives are going to do anything
better for you.  If they are not, don't you be in a hurry."

But I was in a hurry, for the idea of coming to that garden, living
there, and learning all about the flowers and fruit, excited me, longing
as I was for some change.

"Yes, yes," he said, "wait, wait;" and he looked at me, and then about
him in the slow meditative manner peculiar to gardeners; "we'll see,
we'll see, wait till you know whether your people are going to do
anything for you."

"But, indeed, sir," I began.

"Yes, yes, I know, boy," he replied; but we must wait.  "Perhaps they've
planted a business bulb for you, and we must wait and see whether it is
going to shoot and blossom.  You're impatient; you want to pull up the
bulb and see if it has any roots yet."

I looked at him in a disappointed way, and he smiled.

"Come, come," he said; "at your age you can afford to wait a few days,
if it is for your good.  There, wait and see, and I'll be plain with
you; if they do not find you something better to do, I'll take you on
here at once, and do the best I can for you, as far as teaching you to
be a gardener goes."

"O, thank you, sir!"  I cried.

"Wait a bit," he said quietly, "wait a bit.  There I'm going to be very
busy; I've got a cart to load.  So now suppose you be off."

I shook hands with him and walked away surprised and pleased, but at the
same time disappointed, and as I neared the end of the big loft I heard
two or three more baskets come rattling down.



CHAPTER SIX.

I DECIDE AND GO TO WORK.

I felt that I ought to write to my uncles and cousins, and I consulted
Mrs Beeton about it.

Mrs Beeton put her head on one side and tried how far she could get her
arm down the black worsted stocking she was darning, looking at me
meditatively the while.

"Well, do you know," she said, "if I were you, my dear, I would write;
for it do seem strange to leave you here, as I may say, all alone."

"Then I will write," I said.  "I want to know what I am going to be."

"Oh!  I should be a soldier, like your dear pa was, if I were you," she
said; "and I'd go into a regiment where they wore blue and silver-blue
and silver always looks so well."

"I don't want to be a soldier," I said rather sadly, for my fancy did at
one time go strongly in that direction; but it did not seem so very long
since the news came that my poor father had been killed in a skirmish
with the Indians; and I remembered how my poor mother had thrown her
arms round my neck and sobbed, and made me promise that I would never
think of being a soldier.  And then it seemed as if after that news she
had gradually drooped and faded, just as a flower might upon its stalk,
till two years had gone by, and then all happened as I have related to
you, and I was left pretty well alone in the world.

"I'm sorry you don't want to be a soldier," said Mrs Beeton, looking at
me through her glasses, with her head a little more on one side.  "If I
had been a young gentleman I should have been a horse-soldier.  I
wouldn't be a sailor if I was you, sir."

"Why not?"  I said.

"Because they do smell so of tar, and they're so rough and boisterous."

"I think I shall be a gardener," I said.

"A what?"

"A gardener."

"My dear boy!" she cried in horror, "whatever put that in your head?
Why, you couldn't be anything worse.  There!--I do declare you startled
me so I've stuck the needle right into my finger, and it bleeds!"

We had many arguments about the matter while I was waiting for answers
to my letters, for no one came down to see me.

Uncle Thomas said he was going to see about my being put in a good
public school, but there was no hurry; and perhaps it would be better to
wait and see what Uncle Johnson meant to do, for he should not like to
offend him, as he was much better off, and it might be doing me harm.

Uncle Johnson wrote a very short letter, saying that I had better write
to my Uncle Frederick.

Second-cousin Willis did not reply for a week, and he said it was the
duty of one of my uncles to provide for me; and he should make a point
of bringing them both to book if they did not see about something for me
before long.

One or two other relatives wrote to me that they were not in
circumstances to help me, and that if they were strong, stout boys such
as I was, they would try and get a situation, for it was no disgrace to
earn my living; and they wished me well.

I took all these letters over to Mr Brownsmith, and he read them day
after day as they came; but he did not say a word, and it made my heart
sink, as it seemed to me that he was repenting of his offer.

And so a month slipped by; and when I was not reading or writing I found
myself gazing out of the window at the pleasant old garden, where the
fruit was being gathered day after day.  The time was passing, and the
chances of my going over to Brownsmith's seemed to me growing remote,
while I never seemed to have seen so much of Shock.

It appeared to me that he must know of my disappointment; for whenever
he saw me at the window, and could do so unseen, he threw dabs of clay,
or indulged in derisive gestures more extravagant than ever.

I affected to take no heed of these antics, but they annoyed me all the
same; and I found myself wishing at times that Mr Brownsmith would take
me, if only to give me a chance of some day thrashing that objectionable
boy.

I was sitting very disconsolately at the window one day, with a table on
which I had been writing drawn up very close to the bay, when I heard a
footstep below, and looking down there was Old Brownsmith, who nodded to
me familiarly and came up.

"Well," he said, "how are you?  Nice weather for my work."

He sat down, pursed up his lips, and looked about him for some minutes
without speaking.

"News," he said, "any news?"

"No, sir," I replied.

"Humph!  Not going to make you manager of the Bank of England or Master
of the Mint--eh?"

"No, sir.  I have had no more news."

"I was afraid you wouldn't," he continued.  "Well, I told you the other
day not to be rash, for there was plenty of time."

"Yes, sir."

"Now I'm going to change my tune."

I jumped up excitedly.

"Yes, change my tune," he said.  "You're wasting time now.  What do you
say after thinking it over?--like to come?"

"May I, sir?"  I cried joyfully.

"I'm a man of my word, my boy," he replied drily.

"Oh! thank you, sir!"  I cried.  "I shall always be grateful to you for
this, and--"

"Gently, gently," he said, interrupting me.  "Never promise too much.
Acts are better than words, my boy.  There!--good-bye!  See you soon, I
suppose?"

I would have gone with him then, but he told me to take things coolly
and get what I wanted packed up.

"Why, Grant, my boy," he said, laughing, "you'll have to look over the
loading of some of my carts when I'm not there; and if you do them in
that hurried fashion how will it be done?"

I felt the rebuke and hung my head.

"There!--I'm not finding fault," he said kindly; "I only want you to be
business-like, for I have to teach you to be a business man."

He then went away and left me to settle up matters with Mrs Beeton, who
began to cry when I told her I was going, and where.

"It seems too dreadful," she sobbed, "and you so nicely brought up.
What am I to say to your friends when they come?"

"Tell them where I am," I said, smiling.

"Ah, my dear! you may laugh," she cried; "but it's a very dreadful life
you are going to, and I expect I shall see you back before the week's
out."

My clothes did not fill the small school-box, but I had a good many
odds, and ends and books that weighed up and made it too heavy to carry,
as I had intended; so I had to go over to the garden, meaning to ask for
help.

I fully expected to meet Shock about the sheds or in one of the carts or
wagons, but the first person I set eyes on was Old Brownsmith himself--I
say _Old_ Brownsmith, for everybody called him so.

He was wearing a long blue serge apron, as he came towards me with his
open knife in his teeth and a quantity of Russia matting in his hands,
tearing and cutting it into narrow lengths.

"Well, young fellow?" he said as coolly as if no conversation had passed
between us.

"I've come, sir, for good," I said sharply.

"I hope you have," he replied drily; "but is that all of you?  Where's
your tooth-brush and comb, and clean stockings?"

"I wanted to bring my box, sir," I said, "but it was too heavy.  Would
any of the men come and fetch it?"

"Ask 'em," he said abruptly, and he turned away.  This seemed cold and
strange; but I knew him to be rather curious and eccentric in his ways,
so I walked to one of the cart-sheds and looked about for a man to help
me.

I thought I saw some one enter the shed; but when I got inside no one
was there, as far as I could see--only piles of great baskets reaching
from floor to ceiling.

Disappointed, I was coming away, when in the gloom at the other end
there seemed to be something that was not basket; and taking a few steps
forward I made out that it was the boy Shock standing close up against
the baskets, with his face away from me.

I stood thinking what I should do.  I was to be in the same garden with
this lad, who was always sneering at me; and I felt that if I let him
have the upper hand he would make my life very much more miserable than
it had been lately.

My mind was made up in a moment, and with a decision for which I had not
given myself credit I went right in and stood behind him.

"Shock!"  I cried; but the boy only gave himself a twitch as if a spasm
had run through him, and did not move.

"Do you hear, sir?"  I said sharply.  "Come here; I want you to help
carry my box."

Still he did not move, and I felt that if I did not master him he would
me.

"Do you hear what I say, sir?"  I cried in my most angry tones; "come
with me and fetch my box."

He leaped round so quickly that he made me start, and stood glaring at
me as if about to strike.

"You must come and fetch my box," I said, feeling all the while a good
deal of dread of the rough, fierce-looking boy.

I was between him and the wide door; and he stooped and looked first one
side of me and then the other, as if about to dart by.  But, growing
bolder, I took a step forward and laid my hand upon his shoulder.

Up flew his arms as if about to strike mine away, but he caught my eye
and understood it wrongly.  He must have thought I was gazing resolutely
at him, but I really was not.  To my great satisfaction, though, he
stepped forward, drooping his arms and hanging his head, walking beside
me out into the open yard, where we came suddenly upon Old Brownsmith,
who looked at me sharply, nodded his head, and then went on.

I led the way, and Shock half-followed, half-walked beside me, and we
had just reached the gate when Old Brownsmith shouted:

"Take the barrow."

Shock trotted back like a dog; and as I watched him, thinking what a
curious half-savage lad he was, and how much bigger and stronger than I
was, he came back with the light basket barrow, trundling it along.

We went in silence as far as my old home, where Mrs Beeton held up her
hands as she saw my companion, and drew back, holding the door open for
us to get the corded box which stood in the floor-clothed hall.

Shock put down the barrow; and then his mischief-loving disposition got
the better of his sulkiness, and stooping down he astonished me and made
Mrs Beeton shriek by taking a leap up the two steps, like a dog, and
going on all-fours to the box.

"Pray, pray, take him away, Master Dennison!" the poor woman cried in
real alarm; "and do, pray, mind yourself--the boy's mad!"

"Oh, no; he won't hurt you," I said, taking one end of the box.  But
Shock growled, shook it free, lifted it from the floor, and before I
could stop him, bumped it down the steps on to the barrow with a bang,
laid it fairly across, and then seizing the handles went off at a trot.

"I can't stop," I said quickly; "I must go and look after him."

"Yes, but pray take care, my dear.  He bites.  He bit a boy once very
badly, and he isn't safe."

Not very pleasant news, but I could not stay to hear more, and, running
after the barrow, I caught up to it and laid my hand upon one side of
the box as if to keep it steady.

I did not speak for a minute, and Shock subsided into a walk; then,
turning to him and looking in his morose, ill-used face:

"I've never thanked you yet for getting me out of the river."

The box gave a bump and a bound, for the handles of the barrow were
raised very high and Shock began to run.

At the end of a minute I stopped him, and as soon as we were going on
steadily I made the same remark.

But up went the barrow and box again and off we trotted.  When, after
stopping him for the second time, I made an attempt to get into
conversation and to thank him, Shock banged down the legs of the barrow,
looking as stolid and heavy as if he were perfectly deaf, threw open the
gate, and ran the barrow up to the house-door.

"Oh! here's your baggage, then!" said Old Brownsmith.  "Bring it in,
Shock; set it on end there in the passage.  We'll take it up after tea.
Come along."

Shock lifted in the box before I could help him; and then seizing the
barrow-handles, with his back to me, he let out a kick like a mule and
caught me in the calf, nearly sending me down.

"Hallo! hold on, my lad," said Old Brownsmith, who had not seen the
cause; and of course I would not tell tales; but I made up my mind to
repay Mr Shock for that kick and for his insolent obstinacy the first
time the opportunity served.

I followed my master into a great shed that struck cool as we descended
to the floor, which was six or seven feet below the surface, being like
a cellar opened and then roofed in with wood.  Here some seven or eight
women were busy tying up rosebuds in market bunches, while a couple of
men went and came with baskets which they brought in full and took out
empty.

The scent was delicious; and as we went past the women, whose busy
fingers were all hard at work, Old Brownsmith stopped where another man
kept taking up so many bunches of the roses in each hand and then diving
his head and shoulders into a great oblong basket, leaving the roses at
the bottom as he came out, and seized a piece of chalk and made a mark
upon a slate.

"Give him the slate, Ike," said Old Brownsmith.  "He'll tally 'em off
for you now.  Look here, Grant, you keep account on the slate how many
bunches are put in each barge, and how many barges are filled."

"Yes, sir," I said, taking the slate and chalk with trembling fingers,
for I felt flushed and excited.

"This is the way--you put down a stroke like that for every dozen, and
one like that for a barge.  Do you see?"

"Yes, sir," I said, "I can do that; but when am I to put down a barge?"

"When it's full, of course, and covered in--lidded up."

"But shall we fill a barge to-night, sir?"

"Well, I hope so--a good many," said Old Brownsmith.  "Will he go down
to the river with me to show me where, sir?"

"River!--show you what, my boy?"

"The barges we are to fill, sir."

"Whoo-oop!"

It was Ike made this peculiar noise.  It answered in him for a laugh.
Then he dived down into the great oblong basket and stopped there.

"You don't know what a barge is," said Old Brownsmith kindly.

"Oh yes, sir, I do!"  I replied.

"Not one of our barges, my lad," he said, laying his hand upon my
shoulder.  "We call these large baskets barges.  You'll soon pick up the
names.  There, go on."

I at once began to keep count of the bunches, Old Brownsmith seeming to
take no farther notice of me, while Ike the packer kept on laying in
dozen after dozen, once or twice pretending to lay them in and bringing
the bunches out again, as if to balk me, but all in a grim serious way,
as if it was part of his work.

I was so busy and excited that I hardly had time to enjoy the sweet
scent of the flowers in that cool, soft pit; but in a short time I was
so far accustomed that I had an eye for the men bringing in fresh
supplies, just cut, and for the women who, working at rough benches,
were so cleverly laying the buds in a half-moon shape between their
fingers and thumbs, the flowers being laid flat upon the bench.  Then a
second row was laid upon the first, a piece of wet matting was rapidly
twisted round, tied, and the stalks cut off regularly with one pressure
of the knife.

It seemed to me as if enough of the beautiful pink buds nestling in
their delicate green leaves were being tied up to supply all London, but
I was exceedingly ignorant then.

Mine was not a hard task; and as I attended to it, whenever Ike, who was
packing, had his eyes averted from me, I had a good look at him.  I had
often seen him before, but only at a distance, and at a distance Ike
certainly looked best.

I know he could not help it, but decidedly Ike, Old Brownsmith's chief
packer and carter, was one of the strongest and ugliest men I ever saw.
He was a brawny, broad-shouldered fellow of about fifty, with iron-grey
hair; and standing out of his brown-red face, half-way between fierce,
stiff, bushy whiskers, was a tremendous aquiline nose.  When his hat was
off, as he removed it from time to time to give it a rub, you saw that
he had a very shiny bald head--in consequence, as I suppose, of so much
polishing.  His eyes were deeply set but very keen-looking, and his
mouth when shut had one aspect, when open another.  When open it seemed
as if it was the place where a few very black teeth were kept.  When
closed it seemed as if made to match his enormous nose; the line formed
by the closed lips, being continued right down on either side in a
half-moon or parenthesis curve to the chin, which was always in motion.

A closer examination showed that Ike had only a mouth of the ordinary
dimensions, the appearance of size being caused by two marks of caked
tobacco-juice, a piece of that herb being always between his teeth.

This habit he afterwards told me he had learned when he was a soldier,
and he still found it useful and comforting in the long night watches he
had to take.

I have said that his eyes were piercing, and so it seemed to me at
first; but in a short time, as I grew more accustomed to him, I found
that they were only piercing one at a time, for as if nature had
intended to make him as ugly as possible, Ike's eyes acted independently
one of the other, and I often found him looking at me with one, and down
into the barge basket with the other.

Old Brownsmith had no sooner left the pit than Ike seized a couple of
handsful of roses, plunged with them into the basket, bobbed up, and
looked at me with one eye, just as he caught me noticing him intently.

"Rum un, ain't I?" he said, gruffly, and taking me terribly aback.  "Not
much to look at, eh?"

"You look very strong," I said, evasively.

"Strong, eh?  Yes, and so I am, my lad.  Good un to go."

Then he plunged into the barge again and uttered a low growl, came up
again and uttered another.  I have not the least idea what he meant by
it, though I suppose he expected me to answer, for to my great confusion
he rose up suddenly and stared at me.

"Eh?" he said.

"I didn't speak, sir," I said.

"No, but I did.  Got 'em all down?  Go on then, one barge, fresh un this
is: you didn't put down the other."

I hastened to rectify my error, and then we went steadily on with the
task, the women being remarkably silent, as if it took all their energy
to keep their fingers going so fast, till all at once Old Brownsmith
appeared at the door and beckoned me to him.

"Tea's ready, my lad," he said; "let's have it and get out again, for
there's a lot to do this evening."

I followed him into a snug old-fashioned room that seemed as if it had
been furnished by a cook with genteel ideas, or else by a lady who was
fond of a good kitchen, for this room was neither one nor the other; it
had old-fashioned dining-room chairs and a carpet, but the floor was
brick, and the fireplace had an oven and boiler.  Then there was a
dresser on one side, but it was mahogany, and in place of ordinary
plates and dishes, and jugs swinging from hooks, this dresser was
ornamented with old china and three big punch-bowls were turned up on
the broad part upside down.

There was a comfortable meal spread, with a fresh loaf and butter, and a
nice large piece of ham.  There was fruit, too, on the table, and a
crisp lettuce, all in my honour as I afterwards found, for my employer
or guardian, or whatever I am to style him, rarely touched any of the
produce of his own grounds excepting potatoes, and these he absolutely
loved, a cold potato for breakfast or tea being with him a thorough
relish.

"Make yourself at home, Grant, my boy," he said kindly.  "I want you to
settle down quickly.  We shall have to work hard, but you'll enjoy your
meals and sleep all the better."

I thanked him, and tried to do as he suggested, and to eat as if I
enjoyed my meal; but I did not in the least, and I certainly did not
feel in the slightest degree at home.

"What time did you go to bed over yonder, Grant?" said the old
gentleman.

"Ten o'clock, sir."

"And what time did you get up?"

"Eight, sir."

"Ugh, you extravagant young dog!" he cried.  "Ten hours' sleep!  You'll
have to turn over a new leaf.  Nine o'clock's my bedtime, if we are not
busy, and I like to be out in the garden again by four or five.  What do
you say to that?"

I did not know what to say, so I said nothing.

We did not sit very long over our tea, for there was the cart to load up
with flowers for the morning's market, and soon after I was watching Ike
carefully packing in the great baskets along the bottom of the cart, and
then right over the shafts upon the broad projecting ladder, and also
upon that which was fitted in at the back.

"You keep account, Grant," said Old Brownsmith to me, and I entered the
number of baskets and their contents upon my slate, the old gentleman
going away and leaving me to transact this part of the business myself,
as I believe now, to give me confidence, for he carefully counted all
the baskets and checked them off when he came back.

Ike squinted at me fiercely several times as he helped to hoist in
several baskets, and for some time he did not speak, but at last he
stopped, took off his hat, drew a piece of cabbage leaf from the crown,
and carefully wiped his bald head with it, looking comically at me the
while.

"Green silk," he said gruffly, as he replaced the leaf.  "Nature's own
growth.  Never send 'em to the wash.  Throw 'em away and use another."

I laughed at the idea, and this pleased Ike, who looked at me from top
to toe.

"You couldn't load a cart," he said at last.

"Couldn't I?"  I replied.  "Why not?  It seems easy enough."

"Seems easy! of course it does, youngster.  Seems easy to take a spade
and dig all day, but you try, and I'm sorry for your back and jyntes."

"But you've only got to put the baskets in the cart," I argued.

"Only got to put the baskets in the cart!" grumbled Ike.  "Hark at him!"

"That's what you've been doing," I continued.

"What I've been doing!" he said.  "I'm sorry for the poor horse if you
had the loading up.  A cart ain't a wagon."

"Well, I know that," I said, "a wagon has four wheels, and a cart two."

"Send I may live," cried Ike.  "Why, he is a clever boy.  He knows a
cart's got two wheels and a wagon four."

He said this in a low serious voice, as if talking to himself, and
admiring my wisdom; but of course I could see that it was his way of
laughing at me, and I hastened to add:

"Oh, you know what I mean!"

"Yes, I know what you mean, but you don't know what I mean, and if
you're so offle clever you'd best teach me, for I can't teach you."

"But I want you to teach me," I cried.  "I've come here to learn.  What
is there in particular in loading a cart?"

"Oh, you're ever so much more clever than I am," he grumbled.  "Here,
len's a hand with that barge."

This was to the man who was helping him, and who now seized hold of
another basket, which was hoisted into its place.

Then more baskets were piled up, the light flower barges being put at
the top, till the cart began to look like a mountain as it stood there
with the shafts and hind portion supported by pieces of wood.

"Look ye here," said Ike, waving his arms about from the top of the pile
of baskets, and addressing me as if from a rostrum.  "When you loads a
cart, reck'lect as all your weight's to come on your axle-tree.  Your
load's to be all ballancy ballancy, you see, so as you could move it up
or down with a finger."

"Oh yes, I see!"  I cried.

"Oh yes, you see--now I've telled you," said Ike.  "People as don't know
how to load a cart spyles their hosses by loading for'ard, and getting
all the weight on the hoss's back, or loading back'ards, and getting all
the pull on the hoss's belly-band."

"Yes, I see clearly now," I said.

"Of course you do!  Now you see my load here's so reg'lated that when I
take them props away after the horse is in, all that weight'll swing on
the axle-tree, and won't hurt the horse at all.  That's what I call
loading up to rights."

"You've got too much weight behind, Ike," said Old Brownsmith, who came
up just then, and was looking on from opposite one wheel of the cart.

"No, no, she's 'bout right," growled Ike to himself.

"You had better put another barge on in front.  Lay it flat," cried Old
Brownsmith, whose eye was educated by years of experience, and I stood
back behind the cart, listening curiously to the conversation.  "Yes,
you're too heavy behind."

"No, no, she's 'bout right, master," growled Ike, "right as can be.
Just you look here."

He took a step back over the baskets, and I heard the prop that
supported the cart fall, as Ike yelled out--"Run, boy, run!"

I did not run, for two reasons.  Firstly, I was too much confused to
understand my danger.  Secondly, I had not time, for in spite of Ike's
insistence that the balance was correct the shafts flew up; Ike threw
himself down on the baskets, and the top layer of flat round sieves that
had not yet been tied like the barges, came gliding off like a landslip,
and before I knew where I was, I felt myself stricken down, half buried
by the wicker avalanche, and all was blank.



CHAPTER SEVEN.

I MAKE A FRIEND.

I began to understand and see and hear again an angry voice was saying:

"You clumsy scoundrel!  I believe you did it on purpose to injure the
poor boy."

"Not I," growled another voice.  "I aren't no spite agen him.  Now if it
had been young Shock--"

"Don't stand arguing," cried the first voice, which seemed to be coming
from somewhere out of a mist.  "Run up the road and ask the doctor to
come down directly."

"All right, master!  I'll go."

"Poor lad! poor boy!" the other voice in the mist seemed to say.  "Nice
beginning for him!--nice beginning!  Tut--tut--tut!"

It sounded very indistinct and dreamy.  Somehow it seemed to have
something to do with my first attempt to swim, and I thought I was being
pulled out of the water, which kept splashing about and making my face
and hair wet.

I knew I was safe, but my forehead hurt me just as if it had been
scratched by the thorns on one of the hedges close to the water-side.
My head ached too, and I was drowsy.  I wanted to go to sleep, but
people kept talking, and the water splashed so about my face and
trickled back with a musical noise into the river, I thought, but really
into a basin.

For all at once I was wide awake again, looking at the geraniums in the
window, as I lay on my back upon the sofa.

I did not understand it for a few minutes; for though my eyes were wide
open, the aching and giddiness in my head troubled me so, that though I
wanted to speak I did not know what to say.

Then, as I turned my eyes from the geraniums in the window and they
rested on the grey hair and florid face of Old Brownsmith, who was
busily bathing my forehead with a sponge and water, the scene in the
yard came back like a flash, and I caught the hand that held the sponge.

"Has it hurt the baskets of flowers?"  I cried excitedly.

"Never mind the baskets of flowers," said Old Brownsmith warmly; "has it
hurt you?"

"I don't know; not much," I said quickly.  "But won't it be a great deal
of trouble and expense?"

He smiled, and patted my shoulder.

"Never mind that," he said good-humouredly.  "All people who keep horses
and carts, and blundering obstinate fellows for servants, have accidents
to contend against.  There!--never mind, I say, so long as you have no
bones broken; and I don't think you have.  Here, stretch out your arms."

I did so.

"That's right," he said.  "Now, kick out your legs as if you were
swimming."

I looked up at him sharply, for it seemed so strange for him to say that
just after I had been thinking of being nearly drowned.  I kicked out,
though, as he told me.

"No bones broken there," he said; and he proceeded then to feel my ribs.

"Capital!" he said after a few moments.  "Why, there's nothing the
matter but a little bark off your forehead, and I'm afraid you'll have a
black eye.  A bit of sticking-plaster will set you right after all, and
we sha'n't want the doctor."

"Doctor!  Oh! no," I said.  "My head aches a bit, and that place smarts,
but it will soon be better."

"To be sure it will," he said, nodding pleasantly.--"Well, is he
coming?"

This was to Ike, who came up to the open door.  "He's out," said Ike
gruffly.  "Won't be home for two hours, and he'll come on when he gets
home."

"That will do," said Old Brownsmith.

"Shall I see 'bout loading up again?"

"Oh, no!" said Old Brownsmith sarcastically.  "Let the baskets lie where
they are.  It doesn't matter about sending to market to sell the things.
You never want any wages!"

"What's the good o' talking to a man like that, master?" growled Ike.
"You know you don't mean it, no more'n I meant to send the sieves atop
o' young Grant here.  I'm werry sorry; and a man can't say fairer than
that."

"Go and load up then," said Old Brownsmith.  "We must risk the damaged
goods."

Ike looked hard at me and went away.

"Had you said anything to offend him, my lad?" said the old man as soon
as we were alone.

"Oh! no, sir," I cried; "we were capital friends, and he was telling me
the best way to load."

"A capital teacher!" cried the old gentleman sarcastically.  "No; I
don't think he did it intentionally.  If I did I'd send him about his
business this very night.  There!--lie down and go to sleep; it will
take off the giddiness."

I lay quite still, and as I did so Old Brownsmith seemed to swell up
like the genii who came out of the sealed jar the fisherman caught
instead of fish.  Then he grew cloudy and filled the room, and then
there was the creaking of baskets, and I saw things clearly again.  Old
Brownsmith was gone, and the soft evening air came through the open
window by the pots of geraniums.

My eyes were half-closed and I saw things rather dimly, particularly one
pot on the window-sill, which, instead of being red and regular
pot-shaped, seemed to be rounder and light-coloured, and to have a
couple of eyes, and grinning white teeth.  There were no leaves above it
nor scarlet blossoms, but a straw hat upside-down, with fuzzy hair
standing up out of it; and the eyes kept on staring at me till it seemed
to be Shock!  Then it grew dark and I must have fallen asleep, wondering
what that boy could have to do with my accident.

Perhaps I came to again--I don't know; for it may have been a dream that
the old gentleman came softly back and dabbed my head gently with a
towel, and that the towel was stained with blood.

Of course it was a dream that I was out in the East with my father, who
was not hurt in the skirmish, but it was I who received the wound, which
bled a good deal; and somehow I seemed to have been hurt in the
shoulder, which ached and felt strained and wrenched.  But all became
blank again and I lay some time asleep.

When I opened my eyes again I found that I was being hurt a good deal by
the doctor, who was seeing to my injuries.  Old Brownsmith and Ike were
both in the room, and I could see Shock peeping round the big _arbor
vitae_ outside the window to see what was going on.

The doctor was holding a glass to my lips, while Old Brownsmith raised
me up.

"Drink that, my boy," said the doctor.  "That's the way!--capital! isn't
it?"

I shuddered and looked up at him reproachfully, for the stuff he had
given me to drink tasted like a mixture of soap and smelling-salts; and
I said so.

"Good description of the volatile alkali, my lad," he said, laughing.
"There!--you'll soon be all right.  I've strapped up your wound."

"My wound, sir!"  I said, wonderingly.

"To be sure; didn't you know that you had a cut upon your forehead?"

I shook my head, but stopped, for it made the room seem to turn round.

"You need not mind," he continued, taking my hand.  "It isn't so deep as
a well nor so wide as a church-door, as somebody once said.  You don't
know who it was?"

"Shakespeare, sir," I said, rather drowsily.

"Bravo, young market-gardener!" he cried, laughing.  "Oh! you're not
very bad.  Now, then, what are you going to do--lie still here and be
nursed by Mr Brownsmith's maid, or get up and bear it like a man--try
the fresh air?"

"I'm going to get up, sir," I said quickly; and throwing my legs off the
sofa I stood up; but I had to stretch out my arms, for the room-walls
seemed to run by me, the floor to rise up, and I should have fallen if
the doctor had not taken my arm, giving me such pain that I cried out,
and the giddiness passed off, but only came back with more intensity.

He pressed me back gently and laid me upon the sofa.

"Where did I hurt you, my boy?" he said.

"My shoulder," I replied faintly.

"Ah! another injury!" he exclaimed.  "I did not know of this.  Tendon a
bit wrenched," he muttered as he felt me firmly but gently, giving me a
good deal of pain, which I tried hard to bear without showing it, though
the twitching of my face betrayed me.  "You had better lie still a
little while, my man.  You'll soon be better."

I obeyed his orders very willingly and lay still in a good deal of pain;
but I must soon have dropped off asleep for a while, waking to find it
growing dusk.  The window was still open; and through it I could hear
the creaking of baskets as they were moved, and Old Brownsmith's voice
in loud altercation with Ike.

"Well, there," said the latter, "'tain't no use for me to keep on saying
I didn't, master, if you says I did."

"Not a bit, Ike; and I'll make you pay for the damage as sure as I stand
here."

"Oh! all right!  I'm a rich man, master--lots o' money, and land, and
stock, and implements.  Make me pay!  I've saved a fortin on the
eighteen shillings a week.  Here, what should I want to hurt the boy
for, master?  Come, tell me that."

"Afraid he'd find out some of your tricks, I suppose."

"That's it: go it, master!  Hark at that, now, after sarving him
faithful all these years!"

"Get on with your work and don't talk," cried Old Brownsmith sharply.
"Catch that rope.  Mind you don't miss that handle."

"I sha'n't miss no handles," growled Ike; and as I lay listening to the
sawing noise made by the rope being dragged through basket-handles and
under hooks in the cart, I felt so much better that I got up and went
out into the yard, to find that the cart had been carefully reloaded.
Ike was standing on one of the wheels passing a cart-rope in and out, so
as to secure the baskets, and dragging it tight to fasten off here and
there.

He caught sight of me coming out of the house, feeling dull and
low-spirited, for this did not seem a very pleasant beginning of my new
career.

"Hah!" he ejaculated, letting himself down in a lumbering way from the
wheel, and then rubbing his right hand up and down his trouser-leg to
get it clean; "hah! now we'll have it out!"

He came right up to me, spreading out his open hand.

"Here, young un!" he cried; "the master says I did that thar a-purpose
to hurt you, out of jealous feeling like.  What do you say?"

"It was an accident," I cried, eagerly.

"Hear that, master," cried Ike; "and that's a fact; so here's my hand,
and here's my heart.  Why, I'd be ashamed o' mysen to hurt a bit of a
boy like you.  It war an accident, lad, and that's honest.  So now
what's it to be--shake hands or leave it alone?"

"Shake hands," I said, lifting mine with difficulty.  "I don't think you
could have done such a cowardly thing."

I looked round sharply at Mr Brownsmith, for I felt as if I had said
something that would offend him, since I was taking sides against him.

"Be careful, please," I added quickly; "my arm's very bad, and you'll
hurt me."

"Careful!" cried Ike; "I'll shake it as easy as if it was a young shoot
o' sea-kale, boy.  There, hear him, master!  Hear what this here boy
says!"

He shook hands with me, I dare say thinking he was treating me very
gently, but he hurt me very much.  The grip of his hard brown hand alone
was bad enough, but I bore it all as well as I could, and tried to smile
in the rough fellow's face.

"That's the sort as I like," he said in a good-humoured growl.  "Put
that down on the slate.  That's being a trump, that is; and we two's
shipmates after this here."

Old Brownsmith did not speak, and Ike went on:

"I say, master, what a bad un you do think me!  I'd ha' hated myself as
long as I lived, and never forgive myself, if I'd done such a thing.
Look ye here--my monkey's up now, master--did yer ever know me ill-use
the 'orses?"

"No, Ike," said Old Brownsmith shortly.

"Never once.  There's the white, and I give it a crack now and then; but
ask either Capen or Starlit, and see if ever they've got anything agen
me.  And here's a man as never ill-used a 'orse, and on'y kicked young
Shock now and then when he'd been extry owdacious, and you say as I
tried to upset the load on young un here.  Why, master, I'm ashamed on
yer.  I wouldn't even ha' done it to you."

I felt sorry for Ike, and my sympathies were against Old Brownsmith, who
seemed to be treating him rather hardly, especially when he said
shortly:

"Did you fasten off that hind rope?"

"Yes, master, I did fasten off that hind rope," growled Ike.

"Then, now you're out o' breath with talking, go and get your sleep.
Don't start later than twelve."

Ike uttered a low grunt, and went off with his hands in his pockets, and
Old Brownsmith came and laid his hand upon my shoulder.

"Pretty well bed-time, Grant, my boy.  Let's go in."

I followed him in, feeling rather low-spirited, but when he had lit a
candle he turned to me with a grim smile.

"Ike didn't like what I said to him, but it won't do him any harm."

I looked at him, wondering how he could treat it all so coolly, but he
turned off the conversation to something else, and soon after he showed
me my bedroom--a neat clean chamber at the back, and as I opened the
window to look out at the moon I found that there was a vine growing up
a thick trellis right up to and round it, the leaves regularly framing
it in.

There was a comfortable-looking bed, and my box just at the foot, and I
was so weary and low-spirited that I was not long before I was lying
down on my left side, for I could not lie on my right on account of my
shoulder being bad.

As I lay there I could look out on the moon shining among the vine
leaves, and it seemed to me that I ought to get out and draw down the
blind; but while I was still thinking about it I suppose I must have
dropped asleep, for the next thing that seemed to occur was that I was
looking at the window, and it was morning, and as I lay trying to think
where I was I saw something move gently just outside.

At first I thought it was fancy, and that the soft morning light had
deceived me, or that one of the vine leaves had been moved by the wind;
but no, there was something moving just as Shock's head used to come
among the young shoots of the plum-trees above the wall, and, sure
enough, directly after there was that boy's head with his eyes above the
sill, staring right in upon me as I lay in bed.



CHAPTER EIGHT.

SHOCK'S BREAKFAST.

I lay as if fascinated for a minute or two, staring, and he stared at
me.  Then without further hesitation I leaped out of bed and indignantly
rushed to the window, but only on opening it to find him gone.

There was no mistake about it though, for the trellis was still
quivering, and as I looked out it seemed to me that he must have dropped
part of the way and darted round the house.

It was very early, but the sun was shining brightly over the dew-wet
trees and plants, and a fresh, delicious scent came in at the open
window.  My headache and giddiness had gone, taking with them my
low-spirited feeling, and dressing quickly I thought I would have a run
round the garden and a look at Shock before Old Brownsmith came down.

"I wonder where Shock sleeps and lives," I said to myself as I walked
round peering about the place, finding the cart gone, for I had not
heard the opening gate, and crushing and bumping of the wheels as it
went out at midnight.

The great sheds and pits seemed to be empty, and as I went down one of
the long paths the garden was quite deserted, the men and women not
having come.

"They must be late," I thought, when I heard the old clock at Isleworth
Church begin to strike, and listening I counted five.

It was an hour earlier than I thought for, and turning down a path to
the left I walked towards a sort of toolshed right in the centre of the
garden, and, to my surprise, saw that the little roughly-built chimney
in one corner of the building was sending out a column of pale-blue
smoke.

"I wonder who has lit a fire so early!"  I said to myself, and walking
slowly on I expected to see one of the garden women boiling her kettle
and getting ready for her breakfast--some of the work-people I knew
having their meals in the sheds.

I stopped short as I reached the door, for before a fire of wood and
rubbish burnt down into embers, and sending out a pretty good heat,
there knelt Shock; and as I had approached quietly he had not heard me.

I stared with wonder at him, and soon my wonder turned into disgust, for
what he was doing seemed to be so cruel.

The fire was burning on a big slab of stone, and the embers being swept
away from one part the boy had there about a score of large garden
snails, which he was pushing on to the hot stone, where they hissed and
sent out a lot of foam and steam.  Then he changed them about with a bit
of stick into hotter or cooler parts, and all with his back half-turned
to me.

"The nasty, cruel brute!"  I said to myself, for it seemed as if he were
doing this out of wantonness, and I was blaming myself for not
interfering to save the poor things from their painful death, when a
thought flashed across my mind, and I stood there silently watching him.

I had not long to watch for proof.

Taking a scrap of paper from his pocket, Shock opened it, and I saw what
it contained.  Then taking a monstrous pin from out of the edge of his
jacket, he picked up one of the snails with his left hand, used the pin
cleverly, and dragged out one of the creatures from its shell, reduced
to about half its original size, blew it, dipped it in the paper of
salt, and, to my horror and disgust,