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قراءة كتاب Brownsmith's Boy: A Romance in a Garden
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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